The Lost Ones
by Indigo Shade
Summary: If you run fast enough, do you fly? Would you let yourself be Found... or would you rather die?
1. Chapter 1

_**The Lost Ones**_

_{A story about breaking into tiny little pieces}_

The train is on time, as usual. It brings the smell of motor oil and musk, heat rising from its surface and sparks under its wheels. It screams past her body and takes her breath out of her chest.

She throws a rock at it as hard as she can.

_=={Run, run}==_

Sammy is getting his hair cut to regulation length again. The hairdresser is a kind old lady with black eyes and messy style. He likes her. She fights against her age with a pair of scissors and denial. Recently she'd left a gaping wound behind his ear when her fingers had slipped, but that hadn't been so bad. Sammy had liked the pain of it.

He remembers that moment. Her tiny eyes got so big. She dropped the razor and froze, her eyes wide. _Please don't tell,_ she'd begged. _Please, Sammy. Please. I don't want to be Found. Please. Anything but that_. Everyone in the room had stopped moving.

Sammy shook his head and told her she was fine, it wasn't even that big of a deal. She'd handed the job over to someone else.

He had bled and bled and bled and bled. It was kind of nice.

_=={just}==_

"Think about it, Rence," Deeter saying, chewing on a stalk of grass and trying to look cool. "Everyone says that's what we gotta do."

"It's nothing more 'n kitten tales, Deeter," she sighs, "Don't get taken in by 'em crumbly smacks. You know they don't want nothing but your food."

Deeter shakes his head. "Rence, I saw it. Like, in front of me. Like, real as the Father." He flips the grass to the other side of his mouth. He's dressed in worn regulation clothes like she is, except he's not cheating. Hers should have Departed four trains ago. She can't afford new ones.

"I'm telling you, Deets, they're tryna getcha. Aint you know a crumbly story when you hear one? They probably prettied up some poor old pillow and gotcha to believe." She frowns and glances at the smog-covered sky. The sun was barely perceptible beyond the grey, but she could still calculate the time. "I gotta get going. Ma's gonna cook me for dinner."

She turns, but he catches her arm. His eyes are dark. "Think about it, Rence. _Think_. Even if this is all just a kitten tale, it's _something_. I aint had _something_ in a real long time."

Rence just runs away.

_=={as}==_

"I'm sorry about last time, Sammy, honey," the hairdresser says now, staring at the large mark she'd left on him. "You know how… how these hands of mine shake." She should have been in a Departure group six wheels ago. The wrinkles are starting to show.

"It not a big deal," Sammy tells her again. He snaps open the newspaper. The title doesn't come into focus. The wording doesn't make sense. Why can he never read these things?

He's not certain what happens, because one second he's reading what he thinks might be an article on the stars and the next, the screaming starts. Someone is shouting _why Sammy why_ but he doesn't know what they're talking about.

"I didn't do anything," he tells no one in particular, "Just my duty."

Glass breaks.

He needs a new hairdresser.

_=={fast}==_

Rence can hear her mother from down the block, so she runs.

"Florence?" the shout comes, "Florence Louise, if you don't get down here _right this minute_, I will feed you to the Father before you know what's coming. Don't you think I won't."

"Nice going,_ Florence,_" some kid shouts. She throws a pebble in his direction and keeps running, her dirty sneakers hitting the ground in easy time. Her house is the same squat brown building everyone has, but she finds it easy because her grass is a little more dead then everyone else's.

"Ma!" she calls back, sprinting up the drive, "I'm home. Quit jibbling to all the smacks what my full name is. Father Almighty." She closes the door and pads into their cramped kitchen.

"You watch your tone with me, young lady," her mother warns, but then Rence kisses her mom's cheek and all is well. "You're too old to be running around those streets."

Rence knows this. It's starting to get dangerous. They're starting to offer her things, and it's getting harder and harder to refuse.

She opens their tiny refrigerator and groans at its emptiness. She doesn't know why she's surprised. The food had stopped a while ago. Rence closes her eyes and thinks about the things Deeter's promised her.

"I'm making dinner, Florence," her mother states, "Stop getting your crumbly fingers all over my kitchen. Go make yourself useful and check on your sister."

Rence gets real quiet at that.

"How is she?" the teen asks, sitting at the counter and staring at her hands, "Did it get worse?"

Her mother cuts up tubers into tiny slices. "The Hamilton doctor gave her twenty trains, max. Granted, Emily Hamilton is the most conniving, sadistic woman I've ever met, so I don't know if you should take that with a grain of salt."

The last time Rence had tasted salt, she was six. She steals a raw piece of whatever her mother is cooking and plops it in her mouth, flinching at the bitterness. "Doctors aint nothing but smacks," Rence decides, "To the Father with them."

"Hey," her mother calls after her, "You watch that mouth, young lady."

Rence doesn't say anything because Rence is walking all nineteen feet to Harper's room.

Her heart starts feeling like she's the one that's dying.

_=={as}==_

Every day they put up a list of the Found and the Departed. It gets placed in the center of the square and they sound a whistle to let everyone know that the count is up.

Sammy stops by it, biting into a bitter root. He puts his fingers up to the letters and scans down the line.

_Found: Gretchen Silvia White, thirty-five wheels and forty six trains._

"Huh," he says. "Wonder how they got her."

_=={you}==_

The door at the end of the short hall is like this big black brick in Rence's brain. It shows up all the time. She knows what's behind it, but every day it's getting worse.

She cracks it open. "Harp?" she whispers, "Are you awake?"

The fog of the day lets in a little light. Something in the shadows stirs, but Rence doesn't jump, just slips in and closes the door behind her. Her mother doesn't need to see Harper, not like this.

"Flo-ro?" a tiny voice asks, voice so thin it cracks. "Whatcha doing in here? Mama said it t'aint safety."

Rence peers into the darkness where her skinny sister is curled in blankets, big eyes wide. She looks so hungry. So lost. So wild. Rence crawls on her hands and knees to the mattress that is Harp's bed. It's worn out and stained, but it's the best they can do.

"Miss Harper Constantine," Rence says, wrapping her little sister against her chest, "Do you think I give two shakes of the Father's tail what Ma says is safety?"

Harper laughs and wraps those bone-showing limbs around Rence's willow frame. "You shouldn't say his name," Harper warns, "When I was in school, Lawrence Malcolm said that it could Find you if you said it too much."

"Well, he can come Find me then," Rence declares, "Betcha I could out run him. How old do you think he is, anyway? He's gotta be, like, sixty."

"_Sixty?_" Harper laughs, "T'aint no smack that lives to sixty."

"Hey," Rence grins, "You watch your mouth. Ma hears that word outta you and you gon' be Found real fast. She'll hand you over in handcuffs."

Harper giggles at first but then the coughing starts and she has to pull away because she can't breathe and her big eyes close and her entire body shakes with the force of it. Rence can't do anything but sit there and pat Harper's back and try not to get in the way.

When Harper's eyes open again, her irises are bright crimson. "_I can hear the Father and all the Father's words_," she whispers, her voice strong and empty and hurting, one million screams in just one instant, "_I can feel the Father's breath and his great wide arms."_

"You stop that," Rence chokes out, "You stop that right now, Harper." She starts backing away. The sanguine eyes of her sister stare out into space.

The voice that is ripping out of the twelve-year-old doesn't stop. "_I know the fate the Departed take and I know the fate of the Found. I can smell his blood as it boils._"

"Harp? Harper? Har…Harper?" Rence, to her anger, finds tears in her eyes. "Harper, please stop, please." She's shrill, panicked. A part of her is disgusted that she's scared of her own sister.

"Stop what?" Harper wants to know, eyes back to blue, dark circles and pale skin, same as usual.

Rence stares at her. "Harper? Is that you?"

Harper's eyebrows shoot up her forehead. "You been eatin' too much of Ma's cooking. You gone all crumbly in the head."

Rence scoops her up and buries her head in her sister's hair, breathing in the smoke-flavored scent of her. Harp groans and swats her off.

"You are the _crumbliest_ smack that ever set foot in the Father's kingdom," Harper states, "I swear the streets have got you mixed up."

It's not the streets. It's Harper that's mixing Rence up. It's Harper and the way her hair is changing colors slowly, it's Harper and the way she's losing weight and maybe her humanity.

"Supper's almost fixed," Rence says instead, standing, "You best run away while you still can."

_=={can}==_

Sammy makes his way home, his head blaring at him. The pain's been pretty bad lately, but he can't remember why.

His house is Row Six, House Four. His mother is Departed but his dad is one hundred percent there. Sammy is reminded of this by how broken one of his windows is. It lets the smog in but he kind of likes how the air tastes. Rotten, like his mind is.

"How is this a haircut?" the man wants to know, looking at how uneven it is. "What sort of establishment are they running down there?"

"It's the Heights, dad," Sammy says, shaking his head, "You know what it's like. Would you prefer I went out onto the Cliffs? You know it's one or another."

Sammy's dad just shakes his head. "The Father's certainly slacking if he's letting this kind of work go on in the Heights."

"Keep talking like that," Sammy states blandly, "See if he won't Find you."

_=={you can't}==_

Rence pretends she left something back on the streets. Her ma complains, but Rence promises to make it quick. She's out like a shot and finds Deeter where she thought she would: holed up in a corner, making a blanket to sell.

"Deeter," she pants, "When and where."

"You're in?" he wants to know. He's not that surprised. Rence is starting to age out. Things start getting desperate at sixteen.

"Nah, I just wanted a pleasure run, 'cause I just have so much extra energy to burn," she grins.

"No need for sass," he sulks, "I'd tell ya either way. I trust you, Rence."

She scowls. "It's best not to throw that word around, Deets. Might somebody think you mean it."

He shakes his head and says, "Are you sure about this, Rence? You got a lot of people counting on you. If you get Found…" he trails off.

Rence holds up her hands. "Does it look like I've been Found yet? T'aint nobody gonna Find me. I'm the lick-split fastest in the neighborhood. Or at least the block. Maybe just on my lane. But still. I made my choice, Deets. I appreciate the concern, but I'm a big girl. I can handle this."

"Not here," he says finally, "Behind the old fisher wharf, twenty tracks after curfew. There's something I wanna show you first."

She knows what she's signing over, but she shakes on it anyway.

_=={escape}==_

Sammy wonders what his mama looks like. Maybe she's a monster, just like him.

_=={the Father man.}==_

Rence is usually out past curfew, but she hates it anyway. Everything gets so dark and you start thinking every sound is actually the Father's wings, coming for you.

Deet is hidden behind some barrels, holding a bundle and looking pale.

"M'ere," he hisses, and she obliges. They slink under an awning and stack boxes so no one can see them, just to be sure. "I got this one for me, but they say there's a few more you can choose from, I guess. You just gotta meet with 'em and prove you aint crumbly."

"Well I aint proved that a day yet," Rence grins, "But show me."

He pulls back the blanket. It's a tiny, helpless creature, breathing in sick rasps.

"What in the name of the Father is _that?_" Rence gasps, holding out one hand to touch it. Its white fur glimmers. When she runs her fingers over it, she can feel its bones close to its skin.

"They called it some fancy name, but as best as I can figure it, it's a squirrel," Deeter says, rocking it back and forth carefully.

"Can you eat it?" Rence wants to know. It looks like it's too skinny for dinner, and this disappoints her.

"Eat it? Aint you know what they're _for,_ Rence?" He grins. "Watch this." He nudges the small thing's chin and it wakes up, focusing those dull eyes on its master. "Uh…" Deeter bites his lip. "I dunno how to get you to do anything, but, I guess, show off your spark-thing?"

"Wow," Rence is unimpressed, "You really commanded the Father outta that thing."

But it seems to get the message well enough. Slowly, painfully, its tiny pink cheeks start glowing. It makes a small, strained sound, and suddenly blue lightning skitters around them, lighting up their hiding place and making Rence's hair stand on end.

"Sweet Father Almighty," she breathes, "It does magic tricks." She pauses and bites her lip. "But can you eat it?"

Deet groans. "Like _Father_ am I gonna eat her. She's what's gonna save me, Rence." He gingerly scoops the little thing into his palm, tickling its stomach. "I think I'm gonna name her Whitey."

"For the love of…" she rolls her eyes. "Try something original, Deet."

"…Sparky?" he says after a while. They're both staring at the creature, watching it shyly explore the cage of Deeter's hand. Its wet nose sniffs around Deet's fingers.

"Actually," she replies, "That's great. You know what else is a good one? Squirrel."

"Aint no need for sass," he frowns, sad as always. There's a long pause and the creature starts crawling up his arm, using its tiny claws to find purchase in his skin. He flinches but doesn't do anything about it. "Well… My mom says that a long time ago, before the fog and the Father, there was this thing… It fell from the skies, I guess. Little white flakes. I dunno if it was the fog falling apart or something, but they called it snow. And… I guess she's a little white flake, isn't she? So how about Snow?"

Rence tilts her head. "Never heard of it," she admits, "Sounds crumbly."

"Yeah, well, Snow's gotta be the least crumbly thing to happen to me outside of you, Rence."

She ignores that and watches as it gets under his sleeve and over his shoulders. She sees a flash of white as it climbs past his collarbone, and then it disappears under the thick cloth again. "Whatcha mean she can save you? Do you just figure out how to use her 'n' then when the Father comes, you fight him?"

Deet snorts at that. "What kind of stupid is you, Rence? You can't fight the Father. If you're gonna be Found, you're gonna be Found. No stopping that."

Rence gets real still and Deeter remembers Harper and he pales. "Aw, _fog_, I'm sorry, Rence. I just meant there's another way to use Snow. You know? I'm sure if you got one strong enough, you could hold your own against the Father."

She doesn't say anything, just stares at her feet.

"Because, you know, there's this … I guess it's an organization. They call themselves Havoc. And they'd let me put Snow up to fight. If I win, I get food. How sky would that be, Rence?"

Rence frowns deeply. "Sounds awfully crumbly to make Snow fight for _your_ food, Deets," she tells him.

"You know I got Sandra and Kate and the boys to think about," he snaps, but then his face gets soft. "There's medicine, too, Rence," he says quietly. "The people around Havoc, they _know _things too. But you won't get to them unless you participate."

Snow appears in his other hand. She rubs under the small animal's warm chin, and it starts to purr.

"Alright," she regrets it already, "I'm in."

XXXXXXX

_**A.N: **_Hello! Some of you might recognize this as the reposting of a story that suddenly disappeared. This was because I was reported for "audience participation," which is strange because I have never received note that I was breaking the law before. As such, I am officially considering this an original piece with original characters.

It just so happens that these original characters are based off the ideas of my friends. If you want to be my friend and submit an idea for a character, just message me.

If you're one of the ones who is sticking with me and putting up with these two chapters, the next one will be posted this Friday, hopefully. Thanks so much, darlings.

Take Care.


	2. Chapter 2

_**The Lost Ones**_

_{A story about a little girl's heart tearing into shreds__.}_

Rence waits for the train. It shrieks past and she screams at it, howling back into the darkness.

They won't take Harper. Rence won't let them.

_=={Baker, baker}==_

Sammy wakes up while the white of the fog is still dusky black. He warms up some water and washes himself in it, happy to have the time to do so.

He's going to the Cliffs today. Maybe someone there could cut his hair without making him bleed.

Or, if he's very, very, very lucky, maybe they'll rip him open again.

_=={bake me}==_

Zyon wakes up and cleans the house, making as little noise as possible, trying to ignore how empty his home is.

Shouldering his pack, he takes a deep breath, edging the front door open.

"Zy?" his little sister's voice finds him. She's rubbing her eyes and peeking out of their shared room, his oversized shirt falling to her knees. "Where ya goin'? Is Pa back?"

Zyon breaks but doesn't show it. "No, Rose," he whispers, "Pa's not back yet. Go back to bed. I'll be home afore you know it." He follows her back into their tiny sleeping chamber, tucking her under the thin sheets. They can't afford a mattress, but he's found some padding in the streets for her. He just sleeps right on the floor.

Rose frowns and shifts her weight. "Zy," she murmurs sleepily, nodding off, "I miss Pa."

He pushes her black hair out of her eyes. "I know, Rosie," he tells her, watching her fall asleep. He makes it out of the house and onto the streets before he has the courage to admit, "I do too."

_=={a pie}==_

The whistle for wake-up sounds right as the fog starts getting lighter. Rence is already up, frowning at the counter and idly stirring her food.

Her mother, messy-haired and tired-eyed, raises one eyebrow. "Rence," she yawns, "What are you doing in my kitchen?" Rence's mom is named Diana but everyone calls her Billie. Rence has never found out why.

"I made first meal," Rence says, nodding to the pot on the stove, "And burnt the _fog_ outta my mouth."

"_Florence Louise_," her mother gasps, "You watch your tongue, young lady."

Rence rolls her eyes. "It was hot, Ma. I think I can actually feel where it took my skin off."

"_I'll_ take your skin off if you don't stop talkin' like that. Mind your mouth or one day it's gonna land you in all kindsa trouble." Her mother spoons Harper a bowl of the mash before making herself one. "Are you street-sweeping today?"

Rence gets real quiet. "I thought I'd head over to the Heights," she says finally, "Check out some jobs or somethin'."

Billie looks stricken. "I know it looks bad, but we t'aint in _that_ much trouble yet, Flo-ro. You best stay the Father away from the Heights if you know what's best for you, girl. I don't wanna hear from Deeter's parents that you directly disobeyed me yet again. You know the Blues already think I'm some kinda terrible mother."

Rence moves her spoon around her bowl some more. "Ma," she says, taking a deep breath, "What's snow?"

Her mother makes a face. "Some ol' kitten tale about before the fog and the Father. Once we used to have high-up clouds, it says. Real clouds and real sky. The clouds would sometimes cry and sometimes laugh, and if it were laughin' on that particular day, it was snow. I guess it were chillier 'n' the Father, 'cause it would make your fingers go all crumbly and your nose get all runny."

The teenager laughs. "And what if the high-clouds cried?"

Billie sends her eyes out of the window, like she's looking past the fog. "They called it rain," her voice is a whisper suddenly, empty and lonely and wistful, "And they said it could heal you as quick as it killed you. Weren't supposed to be a prettier sight then the Father's kingdom after a rain. Said the clouds and their tears had just cleaned everything up and swept it all away."

"Sounds crumbly if you ask me," Rence snorts, grabbing her sister's food and heading down the hallway, "I like my stuff messy. Don't need no tears getting it all prettied up. The Father didn't intend for a pretty kingdom anyhow."

==_{before}==_

"Ann?" Nikka calls, "Ann, I'm leaving."

From the other side of their house, a faint thump answers her. She rolls her eyes, putting a piece of tuber in her mouth and padding down the hallway.

"Auntie Ann," she sings, listening to it echo through the narrow passageway. "Where in the Father's kingdom are you?" Grinning, she pushes open the door to her surrogate mother.

Auntie Ann is on the floor, setting out sticks in order of length. She doesn't look up. "What do you want, Nicolette?" Her tan skin is the same olive as Nikka's, but without the burn scars.

"I'm taking first meal to daddy and then I'm stopping by the streets," the teen says, watching as her Aunt places another twig. "Thought you should know."

The blonde stares for a while before her curiosity finally get to her. "What exactly are ya doing?"

"Making things," Ann says, leaning back and looking at her niece. "Get your crumbly nose outta my life."

"Love you too," Nikka smiles, dropping a kiss on her aunt's head, "See you later."

She bounces out of her house, humming. Her eyes slide in the direction of the streets and she bites her lip. Her time is click-clacking out. She's getting old. Real old.

Nikka looks down at her hands. She's nineteen. Shouldn't she have a real family by now?

==_{the Father's}==_

Deeter kisses his mom goodbye and slinks out onto the streets. Rence is already waiting for him, lounging against the door to his house.

"Where's Snow?" she asks, loping beside him. They're making their way to the streets, but there's no rush. The slow pace has to be one of the only reasons he can make a living street-sweeping.

"_Father,_ Rence, lower your voice," he hisses, looking around. The few people that are milling about don't seem to notice, but all it takes is one wrong move. "I put her someplace safe, ok?"

She nods and tugs on her braided hair. "Hey, Ma says I have to go to the Heights and cut my crumbly hair soon. It's past regulation. I was thinking a reservation for next train."

Deeter thinks Rence looks beautiful again, and that's why she has to cut it. Whenever her hair started growing out, she lost the boy look and sailed right into woman.

"Eh," he shrugs, "I mean, I guess I could swing by and pick Mom up some food or something. I'll come with." They don't mention that it's not safe to go to the Heights alone, not when you're a street kid. Not when you're hungry like they are.

They pad along and she shifts awkwardly. "Is… Can… After curfew this train? I mean, is this train ok? Can I meet Havoc?"

"Actually, though, Rence," he sighs, "I think you're tryna kill me. Smacks are all around and listenin' in with their crumbly ears and you're off jibbling 'bout Havoc."

She grins and shrugs. "Just kinda wanna see 'em try 'n' Find me, you know?"

"Careful what you wish for, smack," he growls, "You'll wind up with the Father faster 'n your crumbly eyes can catch 'em."

Her light brown eyes cut to him. She's got freckles across the bridge of her nose and high cheekbones, flushed with the excitement of their conversation. Rence is always walking the line to pretty, but Rence has never in her life cared.

She skips a little ahead. "Betcha a tuber I can find more shinies 'n you," she grins. "Oh, no, wait. Betcha I can get there a'fore you." With that, she starts running, getting that shine to her that she takes when her long legs stretch.

Deeter rolls his eyes. "T'aint nothing but a fools bet," he calls after her, "I know you. You're probably cheatin' in some way."

He still lengthens his stride to fall into step with her.

_=={great wings}==_

Sammy lets the world curl out in front of him, putting one foot in front of the other. The dust from the road clings to him and gets him all dirty again.

The way to the Cliffs is not safe. He has to pass through a slim section of the streets. The clatter of children is starting already, even though it's barely a signal since first whistle.

"You look lonely," someone calls. He doesn't turn. Picks up his pace.

Footsteps. A wide smile. Easy-going green eyes. "Are you Sammy?"

Sammy sizes up the boy. Doesn't say anything. It's best to keep going. He takes a step, but a hand with long fingers shoots out in front of him.

"I'm Prime," says the teen. "And you are Sammy, aren't you?" Voice smooth. Calming.

Sammy just stands there. Thinks about his hairdresser. Looks up to the fog and sighs. "What do you want?" he asks finally. Not admitting to anything. Just trying to get through to the streets.

That bright smile. "I don't _want_ anything, Sam. May I call you Sam?" Before Sammy can answer, Prime starts walking, tugging Sammy along in his gravitational pull. "Actually, Sam, if I could, I'd leave you alone. Just looking at you, I know exactly what kind of person you are. You'd rather be anywhere else, even as I speak to you. A Father-follower. Good all the way through."

"What of it?" He sticks his hands into his threadbare pockets. The streets are getting closer, and Sammy can't decide if it's worse to go through them alone or with Prime.

The tall, slender teen lights up. "What of it? Why, Sam, it's people like you I've been… _hunting_ for."

Sammy gets chills, but he can't say why. "What do you want?" he repeats.

Prime tilts his head back, striding across the land with those long legs. "Again, _I_ don't want anything. But _they _want you."

"Who?" Sammy frowns. The streets are awfully close and Prime is starting to look pretty sky with his charisma leaking from every pore.

Standing near Prime is like being Found. Sammy can feel himself being taken in, sucked into wings he can't struggle against. Prime bites his thumbnail and winks. "Why ruin the surprise?"

_=={come down}==_

"Are you goin' to the streets today?" Stephanie wants to know, washing her red hair, her voice echoing in the wooden basin.

"Shut up, smack," Bree smiles, "You'll get water in your mouth at this rate."

"But I _hate_ this, Ree," Stephanie groans, "I dunno why you gotta wash my crumbly hair_ every_ train. Why can't it be every other or somethin'? Lawrence says his Ma don't even wash his hair ever."

Bree flicks back her blonde hair and purses her lips. "Remind me not to touch Lawrence overly much," she states dully. "You know that the Whites say there's the sickness on this street, and I'm takin' no risks with you, Stephie."

Stephanie opens her mouth to complain, but ends up tasting water. She gags and spits it back out, groaning. Bree grins wide.

"Told you, smack," she sings, getting their raggedy towel and rubbing her sister dry, "I know best."

"But _are_ you going to the streets?" Stephanie pushes, leaning away from her sister's hands.

The skinny teen sighs. "You know I gotta, with how the food's been." Of course, part of that was her fault, but she does her best not to think about why half of her meals go missing.

"Take me with you," Stephanie pleads, "Mom says it's not safety that you're flyin' all 'round the streets with nothin' but your knickers to keep you whole."

Bree shakes her head and walks away, getting her pack together. "It t'aint safety for a little one like you, Stephie. You'll get Found or some kid'll get ya. And I aint got time for you to Depart."

"But what's it _like,_ Ree_?_" Stephanie whines, "Why can't I _go?_"

Sighing, Bree rolls her eyes. "It's too big, Stephie. I'd lose you straight away. It goes on for forever, about." She gets real still and bites her lip. "Sometimes even I get all kindsa twisted and turned afore I know which way is out, and not many been doin' this as long as I have."

Stephanie pouts, folding her arms. "I wouldn't get lost. Mom says I got a mind like the Father's claws."

Bree wraps her into a hug, smiling. "I'd like to keep that mind_ out_ of the Father's claws, if'n ya don't mind," she tells her, "Now finish dryin' yourself off afore you catch a shiver."

"You're not the Father," Stephanie sulks, "You can't tell me what to do, Aubree Rose." She saunters off, stewing.

"Can so, Stephie," Bree calls back, "Mom said so."

_=={from the sky}==_

The streets don't end, just begin. One second there's the town road and houses and dead grass, and the next, beyond a towering fence, the streets for forever and ever. It's an eternity of lost things, old things, dead things, all piled on top of each other.

The streets have territories and rules and districts. No one lives in the mountains of the streets. The streets smell like death even though they're the only way kids stay out of the Heights. You don't mess around in the streets, because you take a wrong turn through the maze of filth and you wind up Departed on the next train.

Rence knows the first part of the streets so well, she dreams about it. The gate that everyone enters through leads into the only safe pathway, one that branches out into the unknown forty steps in. It's one of the only places where a view of the fog is uninterrupted. Everything else is just caves and caverns carved out of trash.

She and Deeter head in their familiar pattern: right, left, left, left, right, left, right. By now they're far from the other kids and the tightly-packed waste raises high above her head. They both keep one hand on the right wall, because that's the only way they're certain that they're going the right way.

"So I was thinking, Deet," she says finally, "What do I gotta do to get Havoc to lemme have one of them crumbly fighting monsters? 'Cause I aint got no food to give out."

The dark tightness of the tunnel is home to Deeter. It's where he met Rence. They had fought over a shiny and he'd lost. He sends a glance over his shoulder, but he's pretty certain no one else is around. This is Deeter and Rence's tunnel, even though it's not marked that way. Everyone knows not to mess with Rence, because her sister could hand out the sickness whenever she felt like it. "They give 'em out for free-like."

Rence rolls her eyes. "Oh, _that_ doesn't sound crumbly at all, Deets."

Deeter has to admit that when he heard it at first, his reaction had been exactly the same. "Well, as best as I could figure it, they expect you to pay in food. They get an amount of whatever you win each time you fight, and then when you've paid 'em off, you get all the food each time."

"But what if," she stops and plucks at something from the wall, turning it in her fingers, "What if you don't win?" She pockets the item and keeps walking, pretending there wasn't a certain weight to her words.

The idea has crossed Deeter's mind more than once. Snow was a frail little thing, even if he was feeding her most of his meals. "Don't rightly know," he says slowly. The ground starts sloping upwards and the walls become less perfect. They're getting to where they haven't chiseled out yet. It's his favorite part. "I imagine they just wait to see how good you are, and if you aint, they take it back."

Rence shakes the conversation off, heading up out of the tunnel onto the steady slope of trash that they haven't managed to dig through yet. She's so sure on her feet as she dances around, careful not to cause an avalanche, stopping now and then to pick something up and either toss it away or bag it. He does the same, letting their companionable silence take up the time between them.

"I guess it don't matter much," says Rence suddenly, pulling a shiny out of the dirt, "I don't plan on losin'."

_=={quick}==_

Nikka hates getting to the Heights because it's too many check-ins.

She pulls herself to a lazy trot, working her way off of her block and down the stone pathway where her first checkpoint is. A man behind a counter looks up and waves her through, so she barely even stops to breathe before she's on the road again, wind in her face and smile on her lips. She can taste fire when she runs like this.

The ground gets steep and her pace slows but her heart doesn't, clacking against her chest. It feels good, and it makes her calm as she stands in line for the next checkpoint, trying not to roll her eyes too much.

She doesn't have anything but her father's food on her, so they just make her stand with her limbs all splayed as they pat her up and down while reading her information to her. She has a standing reservation with the Heights every seventh train, but they double-check anyway. After that, they measure her hair and ensure the regulation status on her clothing, matching her colors up to be sure she's not cheating with clothes from the streets.

After this there's a whole section of city she passes through. They have the same brown buildings as the one she lives in but with a second story. She tries not to look in the windows. The Heights are a terrible place to live, even this far from them.

Twelve checkpoints later, and she's told her eyebrows need to be reformed soon and her toenails need to be cut, but she's allowed to enter the Heights as she wishes, so long as she makes a reservation to get those things handled.

The thing she hates about the Heights is how very clean they are. The houses here are white. The streets are black. The grass is green. The trees are planted in perfect rows.

The people are perfect. They smile with such straight teeth and dull eyes that it sets Nikka's hairs on end.

Even though the blocks of houses at the bottom of the mount are touched by the streets, they're friendly and alive. She closes her eyes and wishes she was home.

"Happy first whistle," meets her ears as each person she passes murmurs a bright greeting to her. She does her best to remember her manners and repeat it back, trying to swallow the panic she feels. The higher on the mount, the closer to the Father. And that meant any slip-up got you Found.

Trying to keep the regulation pace, she glides to her father's shop, her eyes on the ground. The owners recognize her and wave, grinning with their Heights happiness. "Happy first whistle, Nicolette," the burly man says, "Arthur will be out shortly."

She stands a little away from the counter as usual, hoping no one will pay any attention to her. Streets kids didn't belong in the Heights. She couldn't hide how far removed she was from this place. It was written in the burns on her face.

Her father eventually shows himself, wiping the grease off his hands onto a towel. He scowls when he sees her, like usual. Her visits are predictable. She doesn't know why he's always so surprised that she showed up.

"I brought you first meal," she says, like every other time. Their conversations don't differ much. She hates the stilted, awkwardly formal speech of the Heights, but she forces her tongue around it anyway. "I thought you might be hungry."

"Thank you, daughter," he grunts, taking the bundle from her. "Good train to you."

"Good train, father," she says, "How lovely it was to see you."

She turns to leave, showing nothing of what she's feeling on her face. She's in the Heights. She can't afford emotions.

The streets weren't safe. They swallowed people every day. But at least when she was near them, no one expected her to be clean from the outside in.

_=={as}==_

Bree is lying to her sister for Stephanie's sake. She walks half the way to the streets and takes a right instead of a left, finding her way around alleys and back yards until she's in her favorite part of town. It's completely deserted. The sickness Departed every single person from the block about a wheel ago. No one has dared moved in again, so Bree gets an entire stretch of land just to herself. It doesn't matter what she does: no one is around to watch her break the law.

She yawns and stretches, hearing her bones crack. She shakes herself off and heads into a house, nudging the door closed behind her. "Vi?" she calls out. "Honey? I'm home."

From the other side of the building, Bree can hear her loved one chirrup and bound over, light paws over the thin wood. The purple cat-like creature appears from a corner, purring already.

Vivi is thin, despite Bree's best efforts. The little monster rubs itself against her hands, begging for food. When Havoc had shown Vi to her, Bree had fallen in love instantly: the little ruby gem in the center of her forehead, the large ears, the forked tail. A creature of grace, power, poise. Perfect.

Still. Bree wasn't winning enough. It wasn't because Vivi wasn't excellent – she was – it was that Bree couldn't always be certain the little cat was in well enough shape to fight. She barely had enough food for her family, much less the pet she wasn't supposed to be keeping.

She rubs her hands over the thin animal's spine. It curls up in her lap, closing its wide eyes.

"Vi," she whispers, "I think I have to get you a friend."

_=={you}==_

When the second meal whistle blows, Zyon's weary already. He'd taken a wrong turn in the streets and ended up cornered against some dangerous kids. They'd held him up but Zyon was faster and older anyway. He'd collapsed a tunnel on them. He felt kind of guilty, but they'd probably be fine. Probably.

He yawns and makes his way to his favorite meal spot. It's high up so he can see people coming for him. He'd once spent half a wheel in the streets, surviving off of the tubers that grew in the dirt and selling off shinies for food. Of course, that was before his life started crumbling under his fingers.

Crunching on a tiny root, he watches a flash of clothes. He chokes. It couldn't be. "Rose?" he calls out. "Rose, oh my Father, is that you?"

"Hello?" a girl's voice answers, echoing off the walls. "Who said my name?"

Zyon wants to throw up. No way was Rose in the streets. She must have followed him and stayed hidden this entire time. What if she found the wrong group of kids? She'd end up Departed. Or worse, she'd end up Found.

He leaps to his feet, slinging his bag onto his back with a solid thump. "Rose? Rose?" he calls, panic strangling his voice. "Rose can you hear me?" He sets in the direction of her original shout, hoping the echoes won't mess him up too badly.

"Who is that?" Rose sounds terrified, "Who said my name?" He hears her clattering around and adjusts his direction, sprinting for her. His mind flashes with a thousand terrible possibilities. He promised their mother that he'd keep Rose safe. He _promised._

"It's me," he tells her, "Rose, I'm coming for you, stay where you are." Trying to sound calm. Trying to sound like a big brother. He's watching their arguments about the streets in his mind, her annoyance at his blatant refuse to allow her out of the house. _I'm seven_, she'd growled, _I'm full-grown. You were six when you first went. Zyon, please._

He hears her footsteps pause and then take off, running as hard as she can. He must have scared her. Swearing under his breath, he picks up his pace, his heart hammering in his chest. This is the worst possible thing. She's never been in the streets before. Their twists and turns were going to swallow her, and she had none of his tricks to keep herself safe.

Zyon tries to keep track of where they're going, but the streets have a way of swallowing up logic and sense. She's always a turn ahead of him, ignoring his pleas to stop running. She doesn't answer, just leads him in all sorts of directions, obviously trying to lose him in the maze of waste.

His breath gets ragged and his head starts hurting and his body is burning when his flight stops abruptly at a chain-link fence. The edge of the streets. He doesn't know how, but she's found a way out. He can see the regulation clothing over the other side, disappearing into the blocks of houses.

Panting, he drags himself up the fence, hurling himself over the top and suffering a gash along the inside of his thigh. He swears and keeps going, forcing himself down the metal wall. Zyon jumps from halfway down and falls to his knees, sharp tingling pain shooting through his bones. He lurches to his feet, heading in her direction. If someone saw her running like that, they'd think she'd done something unlawful. The next step was being Found. He couldn't lose anyone else.

"Rose," he calls again, even though his throat is scratched up from screaming and his lungs are wrecked and he's moving on motivation alone. He pulls himself along streets and alleys and follows the sound of sprinting, hoping he's got the path right.

They get to a part of town he's never been in before, and then a little farther. He watches a door close and his heart jumps into his throat. It's not their house. In her panic, she must have opened a random door in order to get away from her imagined pursuer. The owners are going to spot her, and then she'll be Found.

He doesn't know how, but he runs faster, bolting to the door and shouldering it open. The hinges crack and splinter and he doesn't even care. "_Rose,_" he screams, before his voice catches in his throat.

At the end of the hallway, there's a tiny, thin teenager. She's panting and her blonde hair is a mess, her skin glistening with sweat. She looks panicked. "Get away from me," she growls, "Don't make me use her."

Zyon's at a loss for words, and then he realizes that there's a small purple cat at her feet and he just sits down because his brain is spinning and his heart is about to burn out of his chest and he can't breathe and he hasn't even eaten yet.

"Where's Rose?" he asks finally. Doesn't even mention the cat. "What did you do with her?"

The girl's brown eyes narrow. "_I'm_ Rose," she snarls, "Aubree Rose. Who're _you?_"

Zyon groans and flops onto his back. She can call the Father on him, for all he cares. At least Rose is safe. "I broke your door," he admits, catching his breath, "Sorry abou' that. I can fix it, if'n you want." He closes his eyes at her silence and then remembers what she asked. "Oh, yeah. I'm Zyon."

She's still angry, he can hear it in her voice. "And why were you chasing me? I don't have any food. I can't give you anything."

He sits up and smiles at her crookedly. "Thought you were my little sister," he says, "Rose is always asking to get into the streets."

Aubree Rose flicks her hair out of her face, sizing him up. He does his best to look as innocent as possible. Maybe if he plays this perfectly, she won't tell the Father and he won't leave Rose. "How old is she?" Bree asks, still suspicious.

"Seven," Zyon rolls his eyes. "She's _full-grown_ just because some kid told her he already saw the streets."

"Was it crumbly ol' Lawrence?" Bree can't stop the question, "I hate that smack." When Zyon talks about Rose, he lights up. His black eyes look warm and sorrowful, and this makes her trust him maybe a little too much.

Zyon's wide grin finds his lips. "I think that's him," he laughs, "I heard enough stories about Lawrence to last me 'till I Depart." His eyes find the purple cat as it weaves around Bree's legs, glaring at him.

Aubree looks terrified suddenly. "Don't tell," she begs, "I thought you were gonna kill me. Vi was the first thing I thought of."

Zyon snorts down his nose. "Dunno that I _could_ tell," he admits, "I don't even know what the Father that thing is." He pulls his bag around too quickly and she stiffens, but he's just getting his food out. He's starving. He chews a tuber and raises his eyebrows. "Thought those things weren't nothing but kitten tales."

Aubree looks down at the lavender creature and her face gets so soft, she turns beautiful. "Nah, Vi's as real as the Father," she asserts, stating the obvious. Watching him eat, her stomach growls. She pads into the kitchen to where she hid her bag, getting herself food. She sits a distance away from him and starts chewing too, certain Vi could step in if anything went haywire.

"You got a sister?" Zyon asks, and from there they swap stories about little ones before they both decide that the other person isn't so terrible at all. It's rare to find a friend in the streets.

After some coaxing, Zyon gets Vivi to come over, feeding her a bite of his meal. He runs his rough hands over her smooth fur. It's unbelievably soft. She starts to purr and his heart melts.

"How do you keep her from fading?" he wants to know, "Food must be awful scarce for you if you're street-sweeping like me. How do you keep her fed?"

Her lips purse, but watching him handle Vi, it's obvious Zyon doesn't have a cruel bone in his body. "Well, about a wheel ago, things got awfully crumbly in my home. One day in the streets, a guy approached me. Prime, I think his name was. Said he knew some smacks that could help me out, kinda. A group called Havoc. At first I thought he was crumbly in the head. But… turns out Havoc's real, and good as shinies." She snaps her fingers and the tiny cat bounces over, love-nipping at her palm. "They have a system there. You can fight for food there, but it's… it's bigger than that. There's a whole lotta smacks involved. Good for information, too. I was gonna go there after curfew, on account of needin' a partner for Vivi, if we're intending to win."

Zyon looks up at her, suddenly intense. "Aubree," he says, "Take me."

_=={are}==_

Rence spends all day in the streets to make up for the time she's going to miss next train, so it's getting close to curfew when she clumps home, her bag heavy on her shoulder.

"Ma, I'm back," she calls down the hallway, poking a finger into the last meal stew, flinching at the heat. She pads down the narrow passage, checking in the doorways. "Gotcha somethin' to put into…" she trails off as she comes face-to-face with her pale mother. Billie looks so stricken, it takes Rence's breath away.

"Rence, we have to talk," Billie whispers, and Rence feels her heart go cold.

"Is it Harper?" she chokes out, "Is Harper ok? Is… Is…" she can't even finish her sentence. She feels like throwing up.

Billie shakes her head. "It's not that," she replies, "Your sister is doin' fine. It's that hairdresser you like. Last train she got Found. Cut some crumbly kid by accident and the Father took her."

Rence feels even worse because instead of mourning the loss of her old friend, she's relieved that it isn't Harper. Rence suddenly feels like she has to sit down.

"I'm sorry, baby girl," Billie says, wrapping her daughter in a tight hug, "I know you loved her somethin' fierce."

_It's ok,_ Rence wants to say, _As long as it's not Harper._

"Yeah, Ma," she murmurs instead, "I'm sorry too."

_=={aint}==_

When Nikka gets home, her feet are bleeding. She looks down and sighs, putting them out in front of her, flexing and stretching her toes.

Auntie Ann strides into the room, frowning. She sees the blood and she softens up, turns into the sweet woman that raised a nineteen-year-old with no food and no mother. "Little girl," Ann clicks her tongue, "What you been doin' in the streets to get cut up proper like that?"

"Ran to the Heights and back again," Nikka says, watching as her aunt warms up water and puts in a few bitter tubers to disinfect it, "Weren't thinking straight."

Auntie Ann shakes her head. "Every time you visit your father, child, it's like you end up with your head in the fog. Gets you all kindsa mixed up. I don't like it overly much." She takes her niece's feet and places them in the hot water. It stings where it meets the cuts.

Nikka frowns a little. "Yeah, I know, Ann," she sighs, "But daddy's gotta be the last one left that I got, you know? Even if he were in the Cliffs, I'd still find a way to get to him."

The older woman sits back on her heels and takes Nikka's foot out of the water, wrapping a thin rag slowly and delicately around the wounds. "I know. That's what scares me something fierce. T'aint safety, you bein' a street-sweeper and up where the pretty-facers are. You'll end up Father's first meal."

"It's just," the teenager says quietly, "I just want daddy to like me."

_=={nowhere}==_

He waits until the sky's stained black and then just a little more. Zyon slips out of his house, holding his breath so Rose won't wake up. She stirs a little in her sleep, folding herself into a tight ball. He bites his lip and does his best not to stay home. He's doing this for her. For them.

Zyon meets up with Bree in what he considers to be their house, even though it's only been half a train since he met her. What was the saying? Kindred spirits.

The two teenagers slip through the darkness towards the wharf. She takes him past the grey buildings of the dead fisher docks and down by the reeds before he starts getting uncomfortable.

"It's this way to the Cliffs," he says, trying not to show how terrified he is of that idea. "Issat where we're going to?"

She shushes him with one hand as Vivi dances in front of her. "Father Almighty," she hisses, "Keep jibbling to the universe that we're out past curfew. I just wanna get Found."

He pales and doesn't speak for a while, following after her across the rocks, watching the way the fog reflects on the murky water. After a certain point, it looks like the world stops because the clouds get so dense and the colors match up so perfectly that they all blend together. Everyone says the lake has to be forever and ever, larger than the streets maybe. At least you could come back from the streets.

"But Bree," his voice is a whisper now, "Real as the Father though, where are you takin' me?"

She doesn't say anything, just keeps walking. After a while, he forgets to be afraid. The quiet lap of the water and the silence of the fog lure him into a blank state of being. He stares at his feet as he works across the gravel and wonders what kind of world he's entering.

"It's here somewhere," she murmurs suddenly, and he looks up, excited. There's nothing but the reeds and the lake and the rocks. Bree is making a face. "Where…?" Her voice trails off.

Vivi chirrups and runs ahead, disappearing into a long, thick set of reeds. Zyon is scared for her at first, but then Bree makes a face like _oh_ and jogs ahead too. He follows in her path, parting the weeds in front of him. For a second he thinks Vi's lost it, but then he steps on wood. The hidden dock has little makeshift boats and rafts tied to it, all jostling against each other. Bree darts for a particular one, patting the seat next to her once she plops down onto it.

She unties them and they both take up a pair of oars. It takes them a few times to get their rhythm right, but once they do, they sail right across the glassy water. Zyon gets unnerved as the fog wraps around them, shutting them off from the rest of the world. He does his best to ignore the kitten tales he's heard about the lake. He wants to comment on how he's got no idea if they're going straight or in circles, but it feels wrong to break the silence.

After a while, Bree's the one to smile at him. "Shouldn't be much longer," she assures him, "It's pretty well-hid, is all."

He nods and lets her words hang there. His bones are wearying. He can feel how much sleep he's missing. Eventually he just lets his muscles do the work, his mind leaving his body as his eyes close.

Zyon jolts awake as the crunch of sand under the wood echoes in the night. Bree sends him a wicked look. "Fell asleep there, did we, smack?" She helps Vi out onto the little sliver of beach before shrugging and admitting, "Although, never did see no one that could row and nap at the same time."

"Street-trained," Zyon grins sheepishly, holding the boat steady as she steps out of it. He gets up and his joints crack. It feels good. He follows Bree out onto the sand and they both pull the boat up and out of the water. The number of tiny crafts already on the beach startles him.

They climb the dunes and Zyon's breath catches. Out of the ground, a giant wooden wall dares him to enter. Bree puts one hand out and runs her palm against it while walking around it. He knows that gesture, because he's done it – one hand out against the wall so she won't get lost. She's street-trained too.

The entrance is a few hundred feet away. From what he can tell, this place is an island, and most of it has to be surrounded by the curve of the wood. The gate is, in contrast, tiny and hard to find. It's unmarked and about the size of a normal door, hidden in the sheer might of the barrier. She sees the look on his face and smiles. "Harder to get in if you can't find the entrance," she tells him, and lifts her fists.

She knocks seven times, waits, seven times, waits, and then knocks three times. The door swings open and the two teens are pulled quickly through before it slams shut again.

Zyon is assaulted by the noise that assails him. There are hundreds of people. There are haphazard buildings and market stalls everywhere, all filled with shouting or laughter or singing. And beside a great deal of the humans, a furred partner of some sort.

"_Father,_" he swears quietly, "What is this place?"

"Havoc, I guess. Havoc is kind of everywhere around here," Bree answers, leading him down the main road. She points in the distance to where a large, circular building marks the middle of the city. "See that? That's where all the official fights happen. Mind you, people have unofficial battles all the time, but if you want to be good, you gotta get there. Of course you gotta _get_ good afore you can fight official-like, so I guess it's kinda like… where the professionals get together."

She pulls a shiny out of her pocket and trades it for some orange tubers at a market stall. She cuts up some pieces for Vi while talking and walking, handing Zyon one to chew on. It's the nicest thing anyone has ever given him, and she does it without thinking.

"I dunno," she admits, "I'm explaining this wrong-like. If you're in an official battle, there's a greater chance of rewards, but also a greater risk if you fail. Every half-wheel, they put on these competitions that are open to everyone. You gotta fight one person at a time, working your way to the top. Winner gets a whole lotta food."

The tuber is sweet in his mouth. He sidesteps a pregnant lady who is arguing about the price of cloth. "How do you make food in the first place? Do they just give it to you if you win?"

Bree grins. "How sky would that be? Nah, it's a bet," she explains. "You and whomever you're battling against agree to a certain amount – food, shinies. If you win, you get everything. In an official battle, there's a set price. It's usually higher than the unofficial ones, I guess. You can still get lots of food if you're smart, though. Just have to find someone controlling outside bets and bet on yourself. If your odds are good enough, you could go home with enough to feed your family for wheels."

Zyon thinks about how fresh the tuber tastes and how much Rose would like it. He saves two-thirds of it, putting it in his pocket. "Sky," he says, "Where do you sign me up?"

_=={to hide.}==_

"It's this way," Deeter tells Rence, weaving her through the stalls of Havoc.

"It best be this way," she grumbles, "You've been telling me kitten tales since we were by the lake. 'Not much farther, Rence.' T'aint nothin' but lies and slander, smack." Her muscles are aching from rowing, but she likes how aware of herself it makes her.

He grins at her. "It _is_," he promises. "You gotta have more faith in me, little girl." Snow is in his pocket, her little nose peeking out at the world, her white whiskers brushing his buttons.

Rence glowers at him again, shifting her pack up her shoulder. "Call me that again," she growls, "I'd like that."

Deeter's not scared of her. She's just showing off her angry side for the sake of those around them. She's street-trained. She knows better than to show weakness.

He pads to a white building near the town center. Rence gets real still.

"Don't like white buildings," she mutters, "Heights has got white buildings."

He laughs. "T'aint a Heights building, Rence," he promises, "Follow me."

The building is marble and opens up so big, Rence's jaw drops. "_Father_," she whispers, hearing it bounce off the stones, "This is sure fancy."

Deeter takes her by her hand so she doesn't walk into anything as she stares around. He brings them to the front desk and the woman smiles at Rence's face. "First time in Havoc?" she asks. "The hatchery does that to people."

"It's so _clean_," Rence says to the woman. "Whatcha need to do that for?"

The woman smiles and starts pulling out files. "It's for the sake of our little babies," she states, "We need a clean environment to keep them happy, healthy, and helpful. Are you here to sign our agreement?"

Rence swallows hard as she stares at the stack of papers. "That?" she asks. "And then you show me what you got and I take one?"

"Pretty much," the woman nods, "Once you've signed this, we take you into our gardens and show you what's available for adoption at the moment. Of course, it's not much, but it's the best we can do." She pushes the papers across the desk along with a pen. "Take your time. I'm going to go tell the nurses that you're on your way. Ring the bell when you're done." With that, she turns and leaves.

Rence stares down at the documents. Just stares. Touches one. Shuffles them. Blushes.

"This is sure crumbly, makin' me read all this. Didn't know there was work involved," she tells Deeter. "Can't you just jibble me a summary or somethin'?"

Deeter takes out Snow and feeds her a tiny piece of food from his pocket. She holds it in her fragile paws and nibbles on it. "T'aint nothin' I aint said to you. Just a buncha stuff about what you owe Havoc and how much time you gotta spend with your animal and stuff like that. Don't kill nothin' or nobody, don't forget to feed it, and don't forget to pay them back."

She snorts down her nose. "Don't see why I gotta read it then," she holds her head up high, "I'll just sign it rightly. I came all the way here. Should be a waste if'n I didn't."

Deeter knows why she's making a big deal about not going through it, so he puts Snow on his shoulder and shows Rence where to fill in her information. She holds the pen so tightly it makes a red mark against her skin. He takes it from her and answers everything for her, doing his best to ignore the brightness her cheeks have turned.

"Father Almighty that took forever," she sulks once he's finished, "Coulda done it faster myself."

The teen boy shrugs. "Just wanted the practice, is all," he tells her, ringing the bell, "You know I never did spectacular in my studies."

The woman shows up again, smiling widely. She sees Snow and her face lights up.

"You must be Deeter," she says, shaking his hand, "We were so glad you found our Pachirisu a home. She looks so happy under your care." Deeter practically explodes from pride and Rence rolls her eyes. They follow the woman behind the desk through a hallway before suddenly the building opens up into a great green garden, indoors. Rence gapes at the ceiling. "There are windows on the roof," she comments, "Is that safety?"

The nurse ducks her head like she hears that question a lot. "We call them skylights, and yes, it's very safe. It helps keep the garden growing all wheel long."

"It's sky," Rence states, "Do you eat the plants?" She's wondering if maybe she could find a window on the streets and make her own all-year garden. It was less questionable than that contract Deeter just signed for her.

"Well, we could," the nurse sets out on the cobblestone path, leading them through the thick foliage, "But it's mostly here for our babies. I suppose in a dire crisis it would be possible. Most people here have a garden of their own. We don't have to turn over our earnings to the Father at Havoc, but at the same time, we don't get rations, either. We have to find, buy, or grow everything that we eat."

"Sky," Rence repeats, "Sky." Her head keeps whipping around, taking in the sheer depth of color surrounding her. They make their way across the garden to where a few creatures are tied loosely to stakes for Rence to choose from.

Deeter glances over to her and watches every inch of her hard street-sweeper melt away. She looks like she loves all of them. The nurse must have noticed too, because she ducks her head at the options. "Just one," she states, "I'll be back in a little bit, but take your time."

"How am I supposed to choose?" Rence breathes, "I just wanna…" She reaches out one hand, but catches herself. Her look gets serious. "From left to right, I guess. We'll go down the line."

Deeter sits down on the grass and lets Snow loose. He does his best to watch the squirrel instead of Rence. She looks too sweet at the moment. It'll poison him.

Rence stares at the little brown and white bird that is her first possibility. It pecks at the ground with its pink beak, clucking to itself.

"See," Rence says, "I just wanna eat the Father right out of you. You look like food. Do you got any magic tricks like Deeter's squirrel, at least?"

It sizes her up with one black-rimmed eye and flaps its wings. Rence feels the wind go right through her, cutting across the grass. She raises an eyebrow. "Glad you got the ability to create a strong breeze," she states, unimpressed, "I'd still eatcha."

The next is an empty loop of rope. At first, she's really confused.

And then the thing materializes in her face.

"Sweet _Father Almighty,_" she gasps. "T'aint natural," she pants, watching the purple cloud of gas hover over the ground, "You're some kinda unholy, I tell you that much."

Shivering, she turns herself one creature to the right, makes eye contact, and promptly falls in love. She forgets outright that she has alternatives, because in that second, she knows. The deep brown eyes and soft orange fur take her heart and steal it. She sits down and extends one hand. She desperately wants the creature to like her.

The little black-striped dog pulls itself to its feet, slowly extending its wet black nose towards her fingertips, sniffing. "Hey, there, sweetie," she whispers, "Is it ok if I take you home?"

It wags its tail slowly and licks her outstretched palm, curling its head down for a scratch. She laughs a little and obliges, completely forgetting she's not alone. The puppy leans into the rub and closes its eyes, and Rence doesn't care what magic tricks he has, she's not going to eat him.

"I'm guessing you've chosen our Growlithe?" the woman's voice interrupts their bonding time, "He's a great companion indeed. Strong. Fire type, as I'm sure you know. We're not sure how he is in battle, but, then, that's what you're there for."

"He's beautiful," Rence says, running her hand over his body, "Beautiful."

The woman scoops him up, taking off the lead. He struggles a little against her and she winks at Rence. "Guess he doesn't like leaving you," she sings, "But I have to take him in for one last once-over before I can give him to you. Feel free to wait here." With that, she turns to go. Rence sighs and plops down next to Deeter, frowning a little.

"That's how it was with Snow," he tells her, seeing the look on her face, "It's like I'd finally found something broken I could actually fix." He rubs the white creature's forehead with his thumb. "It was a nice change." Deeter tries to make eye contact with her, but she's staring at the other selections that she hadn't talked to. There's a little black fox-cat and a pink ball of fur and sleepy little black and red armadillo, but none of them make her heart bleed like her little puppy had.

"I dunno what I'm going to name him. What if he doesn't like whatever I choose?" She buries her face in her hands. "What am I even _doing,_ Deeter?"

Deeter bites his lip at her sudden vulnerability. "You could name him Orange, I guess."

She bursts out laughing. "Good one," her sass and hard exterior are back, "I like Puppy, too. Choices, choices."

"That woman said he was a fire type. Maybe Firey?"

Rence grins and then makes a face. "I don't even know what that means. What did she say 'bout Snow?"

Deeter shrugs. "Don't remember much. I was here by myself and scared Fatherless. I was mostly just focused on getting out of here before things turned crumbly."

"Around you? Deets, you know the world can't be crumbly when you're in it," she grins. He looks down and wishes she wasn't joking.

The silence hangs until the woman comes back, handing over the little dog and smiling at the way Rence jumps to her feet, wrapping her long arms around the warmth of the creature. The teen sets him down on the ground and crouches, making eye contact. "My name is Florence Louise Grey," she states formally, holding out her hand, "And I'm going to be your mommy from now on. I don't pretend to be rightly excellent at many things, but so long as you can run hard and fight harder, I think you and I will be best friends. Shake?"

The dog looks at her and holds out one paw, missing at first. She has to catch it when he sticks it out again, his toenails sharp against her palm. She laughs and rubs him roughly, getting him to roll over and show her his cream stomach.

"Rence," Deeter says, looking up at the fog, "We gotta get back." He coaxes Snow onto his palm and back into his pocket. "Come on."

"Ready, boy?" Rence calls, and the little dog leaps to his feet, tail wagging, lounge lolling. He shadows her footsteps as they find their way out, perfectly content to follow orders. Rence glances over to Deeter. He's grinning so brightly it blinds her. "What are _you_ so happy about?" she asks, "You didn't get nothing."

"Oh, it's nothing," he sings, "_Florence._"

She punches him in the arm, and he laughs. She scowls. "You shut your foggy mouth afore I shut it for you," she warns.

He's still cackling. "Florence _Louise_," he adds, and then brays out laughter. Her little orange dog barks excitedly and dances around, and Rence rolls her eyes.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood," she states, "Else things would be going real bad for you right now."

She sends a look to the creature and feels the smile on her face. For a second, it feels like nothing could be bad. Not with Deeter, Snow, and a little half-cream beast.

Rence tries not to think about the contract and the fact that she has no idea what's on it. Besides, if worst came to worst, there was nothing they could take from her.

Her little sister was already halfway gone.

XXXXXXX

**A.N: **Here you go! Not everyone's characters made it into this chapter, and for that, I apologize. Don't worry! They'll be here soon. I am also accepting new "ideas" for characters, so if you just discovered this story, no worries. Send one in as soon as you can.

For the ones that did show up, I owe the following people "for their idea" (in order of appearance):

Zyon: Queztionz  
Nicolette "Nikka" Elizabeth: G6-flying  
Prime: Whimsical Acumen  
Aubree Rose: Vipergirl02

Also, its been mentioned that the grammar of the spoken word in this story is awfully crumbly. Although it will remain this way, I will largely leave the understanding of slang up to you guys, because you're smart. I feel you can usually understand in context what each thing means, and since you see it a lot, if you don't get it the first time, wait. However, it occurs to me that there is one section of this story that doesn't ever get explained, so here it is:

Glossary:  
Train: their word for day, basically. The train comes every day, so that's how they measure time.  
Track: about a minute  
Signal: about an hour  
Wheel: year. Every year, the wheels are replaced on the train.

Besides whistles, they have no way to measure time accurately. As they can't see the sun through the fog, all timing is guesswork, more or less. Although slang differs from place to place and person to person, the words for time pretty much stay true. I hope this helps!

See you Friday, hopefully, but probably Monday.

Take care.


	3. Chapter 3

_**The Lost Ones**_

_{A story about being alone.}_

Zyon dreams he's being killed again. That weight on his chest is back, whispering the same words he's been telling himself for years. _You promised._

He gasps awake, retching. With a thud and a meow, he's able to breathe again.

Zyon groans and puts his head in his hands. "It was_ you_," he moans, "You did this to me, smack." The little black and gold fox-cat licks a paw and ignores him. "Don't pretend," Zyon growls, "I know you was sleeping on me."

"He was," Rose confirms. She's crouched on the other side of him, peering at the animal.

Her adopted brother jumps. He'd put the creature outside for just this reason. Rose wasn't supposed to see it. Now she could be held accountable and then she'd be Found and he'd be Found and suddenly the sheer stupidity of last night's actions come crashing down on Zyon. He presses his olive fingers to his temple, trying to block the headache he can feel coming.

"What is he?" she wants to know. She extends one hand over Zyon's body and the cat just walks right over him to get to her, completely ignoring its owner. "Can we keep him?"

Zyon bites his lip and figures she knows now, it would be kind of crumbly to pretend like it had never happened. Slowly, leaving out the bits that might scare her, he tells her the story of how he obtained the little thing. "It's called… I think they said an Umbreon," he finishes, "And I put him outside so you wouldn't get Found if I got caught."

Rose snorts down her nose. "It was darn near tellin' every smack for tracks 'round that you owned something the Father t'aint like. I let it in and fed it and it went to sleep on you. He's just so cute, Zy."

She's fallen in love already, he can see it in her eyes. His heart melts.

"Well, belle, he's gonna need a name and I haven't thought of one yet," he tells her, getting up and cracking his bones into place, "Maybe you know someone that can help me out."

The little girl instantly is all movement, following him through the house, the dark creature at her heels. "Oh! I got lots of names! I were thinking about it whiles you was sleeping."

Zyon rolls his eyes. "It's 'I _was_ thinking about it _while_ you _were_ sleeping,' Rose. Get your grammar straight. This family is proper educated." He heads to the kitchen, feeling the way his muscles ache from the rowing last night. He doesn't know if it was worth it.

Rose jumps onto a stool while he makes first meal. She shakes off his correction and continues, "Yeah, I was thinking that we could name him something dark like him, right? 'Cause he's got a blackidy coat, right? So maybe Night? Or Blacky? Or Dark Fog? Or Soft Patches? Or Skipper? Or Jumper – I seen him jump, he jumps mighty fine for a kitten tale – or maybe it should be Quickidy?"

"_Rose_," he laughs, "Calm down there, baby. Let's take this a step at a time. I don't rightly mind namin' him something after his coloring, but let's make it something he can grow into, yeah?"

The seven-year old pouts a little, peering at the fox-cat through her hair. "Well," she says slowly, "Didn't you used to tell me a kitten tale about before the fog and the Father? You said there were – there _was_ – a time when magics took the sun away. You said that not everyone could see it in all parts of the Father's kingdom, but if you stood in the right place at the right time, slowly the sun would turn into a sliver and then nothing at all. It made darkness in the middle of a train and nothing could stop it."

Zyon smiles as he slices tubers. "An eclipse," he nods, "I'm surprised you remember that."

She looks down to the creature and holds out her fingers. "What do you think, darling? Can we call you Eclipse?"

The lithe animal jumps into her lap and curls up, kneading her thighs with his tiny claws. She giggles and strokes his soft fur, trailing her fingers around the yellow circles on him. She sends Zyon a sly look. "Say," she grins, "I don't suppose crumbly Lawrence has got one of these. He thinks he's sky but he's nothin' without Eclipse."

The teen sends her a worried glance as he mashes their porridge. "You know it t'aint safety to tell _anyone_, ok Rosie? Not a single smack. It'll get me and you Found afore you can blink."

She straightens her shoulders. "I know," she states, "I just kinda like bein' better than somebody."

_=={Jack and Jill}==_

She wakes up to Harper screaming. Rence doesn't think. She's sprinting for her sister's room before her body has even registered that there is a problem. The screams continue and Rence swears, shouldering the door open and finding the little one splayed on the floor, her limbs contorted with agony.

"Oh, Father, no," Rence whispers, dropping to her knees and crawling to Harper, "My girl…"

She's seen this before, the blind anger and pain of the sickness. She fights off her sister's wild thrashes and crushes the Harper's torso into her body, muffling the sounds of her sister's shrieks and stilling her movements.

Rence closes her eyes and takes the bruises.

After a while, the fit subsides and Harper falls asleep in her arms. Rence holds her tight and buries her face in her sister's hair. It smells like smoke.

"That was the third one in seven trains." Billie's voice comes from the doorframe. She's been there the entire time, Rence figures. They both know better than to crowd Harper during a fit. "They're gettin' closer together, just like the doc said." She sounds calm. Unaffected.

"Her hair's about halfway changed too," Rence croaks, "We're runnin' outta time, ma."

"She keeps screamin' like that, some smack is gonna hear her. Best not be around when she gets Found," Billie states, turning, "Put her down and come eat your first meal."

Rence does as she's told.

_=={went up}==_

Carrie wakes up to screaming and her groan escapes her throat. She puts one arm over her eyes and lets out a long groan. "Father _Almighty,_ you two," she shouts, "I _said_ not when it's early."

The pitter-pat of tiny feet bustle over to her. She doesn't open her eyes. She can feel their presence in the room. She lets out a fake snore, hoping to get them to leave.

"She's a-restin' I guess," the first young voice says in a whisper. She identifies it instantly. Jerome. Dear, sweet Jerome.

"Maybe we should prank her," he suggests. She holds in a scowl. Terrible, evil Jerome.

"I got a plan," says his twin, "We can tie her to the bed. Ma's got some rope in the kitchen." Dustin sounds legitimately excited by the idea.

"I'll kill you both," she answers without opening her eyes, "Don't think your ma won't let me."

"You wouldn't dare," Dustin challenges her, "Ma'd kill you back."

Carrie grins at the two six-year-olds. "You wanna bet your life on that, Dustin Green?"

She roars and swings herself out of bed, chasing the twins and their giggles out of her room. She catches them in the kitchen, wrapping them in a giant hug and ignoring their shrieks. She lands kisses on them, pretending to eat them up.

"You best stop makin' munchies outta my boys," a warm voice interrupts her, "You'll have no room for first meal." The woman speaking is a round, sweet lady with more smiles than hairs on her head. The boys wrestle out of Carrie's arms and run to their mother, laughing.

The teen stands up, grinning. "Sorry Miss Kate. They're just so awful tasty," she states, stretching her bones. Her sleeping clothes are getting small. She can feel where the shirt rides up her torso.

"Ma, Carrie said she'd teach us knives this train. Can we?" Jerome wants to know.

"Dunno," Kate says slowly, as if they didn't have the same conversation every day, "Is your chores 'bout done?"

The two blonde-haired boys nod in tandem. Their mother makes as if she's thinking, humming as she turns down the hallway. "That's awful funny," she says, "Because last I looked, your beds were unmade, you still have not cleaned your room, and the animals aint been fed proper and the barn aint been swept, neither. Funny indeed."

"But _ma,_" Jerome groans, "That's awful work. Can't we just learn?"

Carrie laughs at their pleas as she shadows the woman to the large kitchen. She'd been staying with the Green family for the past six wheels, helping with their barn in exchange for food and lodging.

Kate sends her a look. "Porridge is up. Figured you might want some after last night's bout. Awful close, that one."

The teen drops her eyes to her hands. "Yeah. Kas needs some work."

"It'd help if you could get him that fire stone thing the nurse told you about," Kate admits, opening her cabinet door.

The woman shrieks, slams it shut, puts one hand over her heart and does her best not to swear. "Carrie Ashlyn," the woman growls, "I better not have just seen what I think I did."

Carrie pales. "Uh," she pads over and checks, "You did."

Her bug is squatting on the shelf, cleaning its tiny pincers. There weren't many that could find the beauty in a creature like this, but Carrie had found him broken and starving in the gutters of the streets, way back before she'd even heard of Havoc. Then she'd met Prime and everything had changed.

"You _know_ the rule about _bugs_ in my _kitchen,_" Kate snarls. "Don't make me tan your hide, Miss 'Lyn. I might not be your mama but so help me, I will put you over one knee and spank you."

The threat is very real. Carrie winces and bundles the feather-light shell into her arms, apologizing. "I'll take him outside," she says, "I don't know how he got in." She darts out of the house before Kate can make good on her word.

Havoc in the light of the early fog is beautiful. Most people wake up before first whistle because there are animals to take care of and bets to place. Carrie loves the way her adopted farm is seated right in the middle of a metropolis. Lots of folks had barns and pastures settled right next to marketplaces and main roads. The first time she'd come here, she'd been so skinny she could count her ribs.

She releases her pet from her grasp, frowning. It beats its wings and floats in front of her. She puts her hands on her hips.

"Reikon," she uses his full name so he knows it's serious, "You're gonna get us kicked out if you keep actin' like that. You know Miss Kate aint too fond of the bug-ly types, and you, my friend, are a bug-ly type indeed."

Rei stares at her.

"Don't look at me like that," she scoffs, "Imma tie you up, you keep actin' crumbly like this. Now you stay here. You're officially grounded, smack." She turns on her heel, wiping her hands off on her pants.

"Lyn?" a voice calls for her, and she whips around, fingers instantly going for where she keeps her knives. When she grasps nothing, she remembers that she's in her sleeping clothes and someone is about to see her.

She's about to just run for it, but the boy steps into view, peering at her from over the fence. "Well, howdy, stranger," he smiles, "I thought I heard you speaking."

"Jason," she sighs. "Don't sneak up on me. I woulda killed you dead."

"Aw, shucks. You'd use your knives on me? I'm flattered, girl." The farmer boy leans on the fence post and winks at her. "I see someone just woke up."

She rolls her eyes. "I'll knock you out if you keep this up," she calls over her shoulder, turning to go. "I'll see you later, sweetie."

Jason hollers a goodbye as she shuts the door behind her. He's got to be the kindest thing this side of the lake, and he also holds the honor of being the first person she's ever trusted. The list of people who have managed since then isn't very long.

Carrie grabs a bowl and gulps down her porridge, wrangling the twins and cleaning the counter. "Where's the rest of the Green family herd?" she smiles, slapping Jerome's fingers away from the cookies, "I'd of thought Ida at least would be buzzin' around askin' for knife lessons like usual."

"Well," Kate sighs, and then sends Carrie a look. "I'll tell you after you hop outta them sleepin' clothes, miss 'Lyn. Don't you think I don't know you're escapin' work by wearin' 'em." She shoos the blonde out of her kitchen.

The minute the door to her room closes behind her, Carrie's grin drops from her face and sets into a firm line. Slowly her fingers trace the scars along her body.

She closes her eyes. Prime had eased her up onto a counter and had frowned at the sight of them. She'd looped her fingers into his hair playfully, trying to distract him from the horror of her body. He had started at her ankles and whispered _if I was to count these, would I run out of numbers or scars faster?_

Now she has ripples where smooth should be. Jason had seen her in these threadbare too-short clothes. He'd probably noticed just how broken she was and now he was going to leave her, just like everyone else had.

She takes off her pants and her shirt and stands in her underwear. She catches a glimpse of herself in the reflection on the window. Smile on her lips, cuts on her hips.

Prime had run out of numbers before he'd reached her knees.

_=={the hill]==_

"Beck?"

Beckett opens one eye and stares at the little boy in front of him.

The child blushes. "Your pa said it t'weres fine to wake you. Sorry. I… I didn't mean nuthin' by it." He shuffles his feet and continues, "My… my pa says not to try this 'cause we can't afford it and he reckons she's not long for this world anyhow, but…." He trails off and offers up a bundle of food. "T'aint mighty much but…But it's for my ma." He loses his voice again.

Beck is out of bed in an instant. He pulls on his clothes and sends a look the kid's way. "You got a name?" he asks, slinging his medical bag out from its hiding place.

"It's, uhm, it's Will, sir," he stammers, "Does this mean you're gonna help her?"

The teen cracks his knuckles and pads to the kitchen. His dad waves awkwardly and Beck ignores him. "Well, kiddo," he tells Will, "If you show me where she is, I'll see what I can do."

_==[to spend}==_

It's still early when Deeter meets her in their hiding space out by the dead fisher docks. Her puppy is waiting for her, and the minute that she sees him, all the anxiety from the morning washes off of her.

"_Baby_," she sighs, pulling him into her. He yips and she laughs and Deeter takes a moment to catch his breath.

He hands Snow a tuber and crouches next to Rence. "Well, you can't call him Baby 'less you want folks to think you're crumbly," he grins. Snow chirrups happily and runs around their makeshift room.

Rence pulls a face. "_Fog_," she swears, "I aint got the kinda mind for names, Deets. How the Father am I supposed to pull one outta a hat when I don't even like mine?" The small dog nips at her fingers and she hands him food, stroking the back of his neck.

"Well," Deeter takes out his first meal and starts eating, "I don't suppose you wanna call him Sparky?"

"I don't suppose," she laughs. "Maybe Ember or Puppy, huh?"

"Oh," he notes, letting Snow crawl up his arm and over his shoulder, "Tonight's my first… fight, I guess. It's nothin' too big and it t'aint got much ridin' on it, but I was thinkin' maybe you could be there with Baby."

Rence slaps him a little. "Yes I'm gonna come! Father couldn't stop me. Crumbs, Deeter, you woulda thought you mentioned it afore." Her lips become a line. "And his name is _not _Baby."

"Well that just leaves Mittens or Doggy in the name database," he grins.

Her hazel eyes cut to him. She rubs at her jawbone. "Hey, Deeter," she mutters eventually, "…Thanks for all this."

His heart stops beating for a second. He shrugs. "I'm the best at naming things, I guess," he grins. She punches him in his arm and laughs and Deeter feels himself wishing again. He digs his nails as far into his palms as they will go.

_=={some time]==_

Nisse has her ankles crossed and her hair to regulation and her clothes updated and she's still worrying about being Found. Her eyes stay on the teacher and her notes stay perfect, but it might not be enough.

There's an empty seat next to her where Neil used to be. Everyone in the room pretends not to notice it.

She looks down at her page. Her hands are shaking. She holds them tightly closed until they stop. No weakness here. Not in the Heights. Not where the Father could see.

Neil. When she closes her eyes, she can see his smile the first time they'd met. He'd run her first name and her middle together whenever he talked to her. On her first day here, she'd tripped and skinned her knee. He'd pulled her to her feet. _Welcome to the Heights_, he'd said, _Don't let them see you hurt._

Nisse didn't show it now. She sat through the lesson and picked up her books and thanked the teacher on the way out the door, just like everyone else.

"Until the morrow, Miss Hayley," she smiles, "It was a lovely class today."

Miss Hayley's eyes are red and puffy. She's been crying again. She always did that when one of her students were Found. It's entirely too soft for the Heights. "Thank you, Stephanie." She slides a piece of paper over to her. "I finished grading your work. Good train to you."

The black-haired teen is maybe new to the Heights, but she grew up on the streets. She doesn't mention that she hadn't handed in anything. She just nods and folds it neatly into her bag.

She takes the long way back to her house, ducking her head and making the polite Heights noises that she's grown unfortunately used to. Everyone here walks the same way, chin level to the ground and grin plastered to their faces. She does it without thinking.

How long has it been? She knows it's less than a wheel. Her father had been so excited that she'd been accepted into a Heights school. _Stephie,_ he'd said, beaming,_ Do you know how rare that is?_

Nisse had been so proud of herself. She'd tried on the Heights clothes and cut her hair and ran to the streets to find her sister in their usual spot.

Her twin had been horrified. _You can't go up there, Nie. T'aint safety. _They'd fought about it. Nisse had stormed off, leaving her sister calling her name desperately.

They hadn't spoken since.

When people ask her how she is liking the Heights, she tells them it is the best experience of her life. She is so very blessed to be a part of this community.

Every morning she goes out and watches the train take the Departed away. Every morning she convinces herself not to join them.

_=={with Father}==_

Will's mother is on the other side of town and Beck can already tell she's bad just stepping into the house. Her coughing rings down the hallway.

He opens the door of their room and finds a thin woman curled up on a floor mattress. The husband shakes Beck's hand and sends a concerned to look to his wife.

"I'm Sam. Will wasn't supposed to get you," he grumbles, "I know you're busy 'n' the like. We can't afford to pay you, not really."

"Do I have your permission to examine your wife, sir?" Beck asks, already stepping to kneel by her side.

Sam shuffles awkwardly. "I mean, I suppose so, but… Beck, son. I know how much you do for others, but I think it's the sickness. Aint a cure in the Father's kingdom for that."

Beck lifts his eyes to the downcast man. "Sir," he states, "All due respect, that don't mean I'm not gonna try."

He runs his hands over her body, feeling her fever. He talks to her as he does so, trying to get a response. She shows no signs of noticing him, and the coughing doesn't stop. When he puts one ear to her back, he can hear the rattle in her chest. He frowns and digs around in his bag for the medical equipment he has spent all eighteen wheels of his life accruing.

His mother used to sing him to sleep, her sweet voice in his ears. He hadn't been able to save her.

Beck knows what the sickness looks like, so his diagnosis is quick. He stands up and hands Sam a bottle of tiny, chopped up leaves. Sam looks baffled.

"T'aint the sickness," Beckett explains, shouldering his pack, "Though I understand why you'd think that, honestly." He stifles a yawn and pulls himself to his full height, easily outmatching Sam. "Just sprinkle a few of those in her water and get her to drink a sip every fifteen tracks. Use a pinch per glass and come get me when you run out. In three trains or so, your missus should be up and feelin' fine."

The look of relief that spreads across Sam's face poison's Beckett. That's what a husband should look like.

"Beck… I can't… I can't explain to you… how grateful I am…" the man stammers, tears in his eyes. It occurs to Beck they can't be more than six wheels apart from each other.

"Oh… Afore I forget. I know there was the matter of my payment," Beckett notes. Sam stiffens. The healer ignores it and continues, "You know the leaves and the stringy bits on the yellow tubers? The ones everyone takes off and uses as mulch? I'd like it if you could give me some. Turns out when it's boiled with somethin' else, it makes a mighty fine burn heal."

"That's it?" Sam's incredulous, "That's all you want?"

Beck shrugs. "It's all I need."

By the time the lean teenager is out of the door, his bag is half-full with a sack of leftovers. Like most people did, Sam had also handed over enough food for first meal. It wasn't a whole lot, but it meant something more.

He's not gone four steps before someone finds him. He's not very surprised. Once you chose to be any kind of healer, you found a million and one places to be and a million and two problems to solve. It kept him out of the house, at the very least.

It's Landa that wants him. He started teaching her things about a wheel ago to lighten his load, and she's already almost better than he is.

The minute he sees the look on her face, he knows what's happened.

"Show me," he says, running before she's even opened her mouth, "Go."

She does as she's told, sprinting through the houses. Most people in this part know Beck and they know to get out of the way when he's running. Landa's starting to get the same reaction, so when it's the two of them in a full-out dead sprint, people make room.

Landa flies through the lanes and throws open the door to a house, calling out. Beck's right behind her when they barge into the room that answering shouts are coming from. He doesn't even have time to take it all in, because he's throwing his bag down and pointing to the people in the room to help him put a stretcher together. Landa's getting the rope out of her pack and he finds a length of cloth, throwing it to a woman.

"Soak this in…" his fingers snatch a thick amber bottle, "This. Let me know when the entire thing is coated. Try not to breathe too hard." She does so frantically, tears streaking down her face.

Landa kneels on one side of the patient who is screaming at the top of his lungs and thrashing around. Her fingers dance for the pulse and the respiration and the fever. He thinks she looks practiced, calm. When she first came to him, she'd thrown up at the sight of blood. "He's been here a full ten trains longer 'n we thought," she tells Beck, "Father must be busy up at the Heights to overlook him."

The woman hands her the soaked rag and Landa shoves it into the boy's mouth. Instantly he passes out. The two struggle the rope around the thin patient's torso, but then they get to his legs. Beck freezes. Maybe he's only been doing this for three wheels, but he's never seen it like this. He wants to choke but he doesn't.

"He's had that for a train now," the woman sobs.

Beck doesn't comment. He doesn't have time. They had to get him outside and out of this house before the Father came, or else the entire block could be Departed on the next train, Beck and Landa included.

They move quickly, trussing up the boy and throwing him onto a gurney.

Landa freezes. "Have you said goodbye?" she asks the mother. The woman shakes her head and puts one hand on her little boy. No one moves as her lips whisper a prayer. Silence falls.

From a great distance, they hear the Father's cry.

"_Go,_" Landa hisses, picking up her end of the makeshift stretcher, "We're out of time."

Beck doesn't need to be told twice. The minute he's outside, he can hear the sirens and the wing-beats of the Father, he can hear that howl that has haunted every memory of his mother since she was taken from him.

He has never run so fast in his life. "We don't have time to get to the lake," he shouts to Landa, "Find somewhere deserted."

She does as she's told, her golden hair whipping out behind her. She skids into an empty town square and drops the body. The boy's eyes open.

Beck watches all of the steel melt out of Landa at once. "I'm sorry," she whispers, cutting his bindings with a quick slash, "We couldn't risk it."

"Let's _go_," Beck growls, his eyes on the sky, the keen getting closer, "Landa, come on."

The blonde drops by the boy's side and puts her hands on his face. She meets his changed eyes. "You are loved," she tells him, "We do not and we will not forget you."

The boy whinnies in fear and tries to stand, but the sickness in his legs tangle him and he tumbles to the ground. Beck wraps one hand around Landa's skinny wrists and tugs her away. "I'm sorry," she calls to the boy, "I'm so sorry."

The heat of the Father is already close. Beck yanks her along in his path until she finally gets her feet under her, and then the two of them find cover in an alleyway that Beck hopes is far enough.

He closes his eyes as the screech gets louder. He wraps Landa to his chest. He can feel her sob. The heat and the screams and the wings and the fury take his brain. He just waits for it to be over, waits for the moment he can wake up and this can be a nightmare story, waits for the moment when he can relax and tell people there was nothing he could do, they were going to be Departed, plain and simple.

The first time he had been this close to someone being Found had also been the last time he had seen his mother.

Landa cries and cries and cries.

_=={but Jack broke down}==_

He finds her in the streets again, picking the skin off of some kind of tuber. "My, my, my. Well, if it isn't Aubree Rose," he grins, sitting next to her.

She goes from killer to kind in an instant. "Maybe you should do better than sneak up on a streets kid, Zy. That kinda crumbly behavior gets smacks Departed."

He leans back on their pile of trash and picks a shiny out of the dirt. "I've been up to a lot of rather crumbly behavior lately," he smiles. She cuts her eyes to him and scans the area for listeners. "Yeah," he yawns, "I decided I was friends with this Bree smack. T'aint been a day. Bet she wants to cut my throat one train."

Aubree rolls her eyes and flicks her hair back. "Nah," she states, "I doubt that. I think that sounds like too much trouble. Way I see it, Zyon, you gon' get yourself did in without her help."

He sits up abruptly and she has to remind herself that he's not going to kill her. Her fingers are already around a blade anyway, just out of force of habit.

"Hey," he smiles, "I was wonderin' if after some streets huntin' you might join me on a walk of our fair civilization. There might be a few things I would like to talk to you 'bout."

She sizes him up, testing the weight of her trust and the weight of her training. "Surely," she says finally, "I got a story 'bout my little sister you'd like."

Zyon laughs and admits he has one too. She watches him sling himself to standing, lean muscle and unkempt hair, the old youth of the streets written in his face. She knows better than to trust anyone explicitly, but for some reason he makes her rethink that rule.

She shakes herself of the uncertainty. She can still take him. After all, she's a girl.

_=={and got too loud}==_

Nisse has a job she'd rather not hold down. It's nothing compared to the streets and she's not gone a day hungry, but she'd take anything to get out of the tedium of it.

"Hello, Stephanie," says every person who passes her position, "I'm here to obtain my rations. Would you mind if I got them myself?"

Nisse always says that they are allowed to search the aisles for whatever it is they're looking for. She secretly hates the idea of getting something for someone else, even if that meant she got to do something.

Then they come back with their boxes or bags or whatever and she checks and double-checks their ration tags and swipes them with a scanner and weighs them and calculates their volume and at one point when she was learning how to do this, she wondered if it would be faster to just ask the customer for a blood sacrifice.

Neil usually swung by around the fourth signal, pretending that he had something to look for. He used to slip her little math puzzles to keep her busy.

She can't tell if she misses the distraction or she misses him.

When she gets home, she smiles to her father and slips upstairs. She waits until all of her work is finished perfectly before she takes out the paper Miss Hayley gave her.

It is blank except for the words _You need to get out of here._

_=={now}==_

Nikka can't breathe. It happens sometimes when she stays in the streets too long – suddenly it all felt like it was collapsing in on her.

She starts running on her tattered feet, forgetting to put one hand on the walls. She's lost before she realizes what's happening.

Her chest gets tighter. Her mind starts blanking. She can't inhale. It all starts going black and the ground swooshes up at her.

Hands catch her. At first she fights them but her terror eats her so completely that she can't even see.

"Easy," a smooth voice says, "You're going to be just fine. Here, eat this."

She clenches her jaw and snakes her head away from the offered substance, but eventually the stranger gets it in her mouth. She instantly calms, sucking in a deep breath, swallowing whatever it was.

"Father Almighty," she breathes, "Thank you kindly." She lifts her eyes to her savior. It's a spidery teen with eyes like ivy. He grins with straight teeth.

"I'm Prime," he offers, "And think nothing of it. I knew someone who suffered panic attacks when I was younger, and quite by accident she and I discovered a cure for it."

She presses her palms against her forehead. "I don't know about panic attacks," she admits, "But you certainly saved me proper, Prime. I'm Nikka."

"Well how could I let such a pretty girl as yourself be taken in by such a little weakness? If I hadn't stepped up, why, the Father should have Found me where I stood." He leaks charisma from every pore. The only problem is that he speaks like a Heights person, all polished and dictated. But still. He did just practically save her life. If she'd passed out in the streets, the best she could hope for was waking up with no possessions left.

She pushes her hair out of her face without thinking and regrets it. He catches sight of her face.

Her lips narrow. He's probably regretting that comment about prettiness right now. "It was nice meeting you," she mumbles, assuming he's gonna run in the opposite direction as fast as he can, "See you around."

He holds out one hand and puts it on her shoulder. "Don't go," his voice is soft and light and kind, "Please, Nikka." He slowly turns her to face him, gently brushing the hair out of her face. His fingers trace her scars. "Little girl," he whispers, "Who has hurt you in this way?"

Nikka falls in love.

_=={Jill}==_

Carrie bites off a piece of her bittersweet fruit and hands the rest to her tiny fire fox. He chews it happily and she has to shake his fur off her fingers before setting into her own meal.

She yawns and stretches, kicking her boots out in front of her. "Yikes," she says, "Long day."

"It's only 'bout half over," the sweet voice of Jason tells her, looking at her over bales of hay, "What could be so possible long 'bout it?"

"Well for one," she grins, "I had to see your crumbly face." She takes her eyes off the few bites of a tuber she has left and Kas licks it. She rolls her eyes and lets him have the rest, curled up on her lap. He'd been slower in trusting her than Rei had been, but that was because she had to integrate him into a family that was already impossibly close.

Jason snorts down his nose. "Might as well just admit you're jealous, sweetie. Can't everyone look as wonderous as this."

"You going to the fights tonight?" she wants to know, smoothing the fur between Kas's shoulder blades. There's a mat of blood on his ribs that she has yet to comb out for fear of hurting the healing skin.

He shrugs. "Dunno. Nat's home alone so… I think I'm gonna stay in." He looks down at his hands. "And I…"

Jason trails off and Carrie looks up. She rolls her eyes. He's sleeping standing up, balanced against his pitchfork. His narcolepsy has to be her favorite part of him.

She lets him rest, picking up Kas and dancing carefully out of the barn. Rei's waiting for them, hovering at his usual level. She puts her fox on the ground and pulls out a knife. "Ready for some practice?" she asks the two of them. Kas yawns and goes to sleep and Rei, as usual, makes no notice of having heard her.

She flips a blade at a fence post across the yard. It sticks in the wood, quivering.

Her daddy had shown her how to throw and handle knives. And then he had died.

_=={has}==_

Aubree takes him the streets way to the lake so they don't have to worry about being seen in the barely fading light of the fog. In the boat on the way there, Zyon tells her the story of naming Eclipse, laughing as the tiny black fox and the lithe lavender cat make friends. They eat their dinner in the middle of rowing. Off in the distance, Zyon can hear the whistle blow. Rose is safely under the protection of their neighbors, waiting for him to come home from Havoc.

They land and tie up the dingy, Vi tripping Zyon only about a hundred times as she weaves through his feet.

"So today," Bree says as the door opens for them, "I thought I'd take you to see some battles. I mean, that's the whole point of this, right?"

Zyon nods and lets her take him through the city. He's still uncomfortable with how unevenly distributed the technology is. He walks by farms and apartments just the same. It's loud here, loud and exultant as the night falls.

She takes him through the streets and he holds Eclipse close to him, his heart beating loudly. She pulls him into a large warehouse where he can already hear chanting and shouting.

"This is where a lot of beginner battles take place," she calls over the din, "There's usually four going on at once, in each corner."

He turns to look and for one intensely terrifying moment, can't find her again. When he does locate her wavy blonde hair, relief floods him enough to grab her hand. She snarls until she sees who it is and then the look is gone.

"I can't lose you," he tells her, "I hope you don't mind."

Zyon's hand fits perfectly around hers. She shrugs and weaves them both through the crowd until they are at the outer ring of a fight. It's a tiny brown bird against a large purple and tan moth. By the cuts and bruises present on both the creatures, the battle's been rough so far.

"Ok," says Bree. He doesn't hear her so she has to step closer and put her lips to his ear. "So how it works is that there are two colors." She points to the bracelet around each person's wrist. "Today it's maroon and yellow. If you're not part of the fight, you can choose a color and bet on it. Say I thought that moth was crumbly – it is, by the way, the only reason it hasn't lost is because that's an awful weak bird – but say you thought it was crumbly and you wanted to put your food on maroon for the bird. Well," she drags his attention to the numbers over the fight ring, "This is corner three and fight six. So I'd find someone in charge of bets and say maroon, three, six and put down whatever I thought was appropriate."

The bird's owner shouts an attack and the little bird shakes the sand from its dusty wings into a flurry. Everyone on the sidelines groans and Bree has to pause to spit out debris.

"_Any_ way," she coughs, shifting Vi in her arms, "The more people that bet on one side, the less payoff you have if that side wins. That's why some folks take the crazy bet instead. Sometimes there are comebacks, after all, and those payoffs are huge. Not usually in these rankin's, but sometimes."

Zyon nods and lets Eclipse use his shoulder as a better vantage point. "Well what about…?" he starts, but she shakes her head.

"Wait, it gets crumbly more complicated. Another way to make money is to bet on a color for the whole night, either in one corner or the whole event. Now this don't mean it wins every time, but it does mean that by the end of the night, maroon would have won more times 'n yellow. Or you can make a bet on one color for all the battles that are happening right now. There's lots of different ways to make fast food, but at the same time, there's lots of different ways to lose it all."

The crowd gasps as the little brown pigeon skitters to one side and slams against the ground. It stands up and rushes forwards, hitting the moth in the center of its thorax.

"Ok," Zyon says slowly, "That's… Well, that's fine, but do you wanna explain just what happens if you're _in_ the ring?" He apologizes for his sass by sending her a quick smile.

She shrugs. "That's all up to you. Usually it's one versus one until someone gives in. You don't see two until the higher levels. If you win, you get food. You don't win, you lose food. Don't mess up. Sign up for as many battles as you want in the day, fight at night. That's about it."

The moth falls from the sky. "That's about it," Zyon repeats quietly. The bug's owner slumps to his knees and buries his face in his hands.

Zyon holds Eclipse just a little bit tighter.

==_{got}==_

"Don't _worry, _Deeter," Rence tells him, holding her puppy close, "Snow's sky. She'll hold up just fine."

He can hear the rumble of the crowd downstairs. The other scheduled battle members ignore the two teens as they await their turn. His heart is louder than her words.

"Maroon, huh?" she grins, "I got a lot ridin' on you, smack."

Deeter rolls his eyes. "Don't you lie to me," he states, "You don't got nothing ridin' on me. You _just_ learned how the bettin' works, _smack_."

She shrugs, grinning that one-million-volt powerhouse smile that could stun the Father. The effect is dulled by the battle moderator calling his name. The minute he hears it, he feels his heart drop.

Rence sees his panic and squeezes his hand. "I'm gonna be right there the whole time, ok?"

Her skin is smooth and warm. It doesn't help him breathe. He manages to make his way down the ladder from the attic space, slipping only twice. He gets led to the center of the third ring. Rence is right there near him, her eyes dancing. His eyes land on a girl with a purple cat and a boy with a black fox, holding hands. He thinks of Rence and closes his fingers into fists.

The yellow team turns out to be a girl, her little green bird perched on her shoulder. Deeter bites his lip and the mediator waves his hand lazily, signaling the start.

Deeter doesn't even hear the girl say anything, but the bird takes off anyway, suddenly dangerous. It flickers in and out of existence, hitting Snow each time. Well, Snow could disappear too. "Use my clothes for cover, Snow," he tells her. Her tiny ears flick and she skitters under his shirt line. The crowd roars and he reminds himself to ignore it. All that matters is Snow. And Rence. His eyes find the teens that are holding hands, the blonde girl leaning up to say something to the lean olive-skinned boy, who laughs.

Since he's not watching, he doesn't see the bird until it's too late. It slams into his side, winding him and getting Snow out in the open. "Snow, spark that thing, babe," he says, trying to catch his breath.

She runs her little paws over her cheeks and shudders. Blue forks across the space and catches the bird in the chest. The room smells like cooking and he can practically hear Rence's stomach growling. The bird falls from the sky and the white squirrel uses the opportunity to jump at it, sending it flying into the ground at a harsh angle. Everyone winces as it hits the floor. It doesn't get up.

Snow skitters back to her owner and he sweeps her into his arms. "Lovely girl," he tells her, "You're perfect, honey." He turns to Rence, who is beaming.

"Told you it was gonna be sky," she says, pressing herself close to him so he can hear her. He thinks about how easy it would be to kiss her, but then her sly look is back. "Let's go collect your winnings, smack," she says, tugging him along by his wrist.

He thinks about the boy and the girl holding hands and realizes at least he has Rence.

_=={no brother.}==_

Sammy stays awake for a long time, feeling the fingerprints people have left on him.

When he goes outside, he can hear things move inside him. He walks until he finds a deserted area of town. There's rope and a gag lying in the center and he thinks it's not very clean of them to just leave it there. They ought to be Found.

He hears screaming coming from a house and thinks _how terrible, this sickness._

Sammy goes and finds a small girl in the streets. She's lost and alone. He kills her and takes her clothes.

XXXXXXX

**_A.N:_ **Yikes please bear with me while I get this back on schedule! This means there will be a big gap so _next_ Friday is my update time. Haha this is why you shouldn't decide on a Thursday to restart something due on Fridays.

New cast playthings, in order of how they're open on my tabs:

Beckett Dane: FirebirdXoX  
Carrie Ashlyn: Fear The Pika  
Stephanie "Nisse" Starlette: Akiza Izayoi  
Jason Tiber: reven228

Ok so if you're new and you're reading this, feel free to send me people to put through Havoc ;)

Oh and before I forget... I actually have no idea what to name Rence's Growlithe, so go ahead and leave me a suggestion in your review :) Thanks so much!

Hope you liked this week's installment of my nightmares :)

Take Care.


	4. Chapter 4

**_The Lost Ones_**

_{A story about white nights}_

Her mama didn't send her to school to learn letters. Her mama straightened her spine and did a just-fine job teaching as she cleaned the house and hid her daughter from the streets. _Listen up, Dilly, because these'll be important one day_.

Dill's favorite are the vowels. Dill aint spent a day she can't hear the vowels in her mind, mixing in tune to the city.

[_A_ is for anxiety. This is important, Dilly-Billy. Anxiety is a crushing understanding that this world is a-crumblin'. Anxiety is that moment when you pull your nails into your palm and hold onto air. This is how you know love, too, Dill, because love comes with an anxiety of separation. If you can bear bein' away from him for more 'n' an instant, t'aint the one for you, baby.]

Dill finds her mama's A For Anxiety written in the soul of her. Right now he is exactly two feet away from her and it's already too far. Rigby sends her a look from where he's hiding, sees her work the vowels over her lips, knows she's scared, holds out his hand so she can grip it.

[_E_ is for expectations, in that you shouldn't have any. We is all just peoples, darlin', and if you go 'round expectin' more from folk, won't get you nothin' but heartbreak. Expect things only from yourself at all times. Expect you could do better, 'cause aint a job been done perfectly in the Father's kingdom. Expect to be kinder, 'cause not a single 'vidual needs cruelty in these times. And expect to love with even more of yourself every day, because there's always gonna be some part of you that's not been touched yet. Expectations are important, Dilly.]

The whistle sounds for the morning and Dill jumps. Rigby knows she's at E without looking, just by the squeeze of her fingers. He can feel her heart jack-rabbit through her skin. He lets her clutch at him and pulls her along the shadows. He can smell the oil and slick heat of the tracks. The train is due any second, and if they're not careful, they both bite it.

[_I_ is for introvert. Now there aint too many things you can do 'bout your personality, darlin', but one of them is thinkin' like an introvert but actin' like an extrovert. Speak less and think more, but never be afraid to be where the action is. Trust only a few people in the Father's kingdom, but make lots of friends. The important thing here is that you never be afraid to take a risk, but you bet your crumbly soul that you consider the ramifications of whatever you're about to embark upon. If it's somethin' your introverted self thinks is mean kinds of crumble, you best talk your extroverted behind out of there. I mean that, Dilly. You listen to the inside of you firstly.]

She's at introvert, he can see it in her pale skin. He brushes the blonde hair out of her eyes. When he touches her, his skin dances. She nods at his silent question and he keeps going. The train is in the distance and he picks up the pace.

[_O_ is for owing and how if you got a debt in some way, you pay it back and then some. I don't care if it t'aint a real debt proper, if you perceive any kinda unevenness twixt you and some smack, you solve it and come out on top. If a sir has lent you a shiny, you give him back two. You hear me, girl? If you do this rightly and never let someone hold somethin' over you, why, you'll be happier 'n' the Father when he's huntin'.]

Every day that she wakes up next to Rigby, it saves her life. She doesn't know how to pay this back so she's currently ducking along the deep trench near the tracks for him. Her bag jostles against her back as they run. She wasn't supposed to fall in love with him.

[_U_ stands for unequivocal. Now you might not go to a fancy Heights school or nothin', but that don't mean you don't know how you want your life lived. Some smack asks you what you want, you want unequivocal answers, you want unequivocal fairness, you want unequivocal justice. Unequivocal is the clean type of things, the kind where there's no fog about it. T'aint no one think you're crumbly if you use words like unequivocal and live your life in plain and simple terms. That's what it's all about. Be plain and simple, folks'll respect you.]

He pulls her to their checkpoint and she drops the bag. He picks up the one waiting for them, knows better than to look inside. Takes the device out of his pocket.

The train whips by and Dill feels her breath leave her body. Rigby keeps calm like always. He waits for the perfect moment and throws. There's no way to know if he managed to tag it, but when the train is finally past, there's nothing left on the tracks.

Someone shouts from a distance. Time's up. Rigby starts running, tugging her in his path. She takes a few seconds to get her feet under her, and then she's flying just as fast as he is. She does her best not to notice the satchel they just picked up is slowly leaking blood.

[And finally there's that crumbly Y. Y is special and only used sometimes and it stands for the most important thing in the world: you. You is a special word and most folk don't give it two thoughts, but without it, there's no "could you" or "you know." You're the most important thing in the world, but when you say those words exactly as I have, you won't mean yourself. See? It's a tad confusing but I suppose what I'm tryna get at is that the word "you" means that things go in circles instead of straight lines. I give my heart to you, and when you say "I give my heart to you," it comes back to me. You is so important. Without it, there's no "only you" and "because of you." And of course the most sky phrase you can say, the one you should never say 'less you mean it entirely: "_I love you."_]

Dill grips Rigby's hand tighter.

_=={Oh the streets}==_

"Today?" Rose wants to know, squishing Eclipse against her. His back paws dangle and his tail flicks irritably. He wiggles and she scoots her arms farther under his ribcage.

Zyon rolls his eyes. "No, Rosie. You know that. Where's your bag?" he asks. He pauses to cough and he and his sister freeze. He holds out his hands. They're steady. They both relax.

Eclipse squirms again and she flips him onto his back, cradling him. "But _Zyon,_" she whines, following him as he searches their empty house, "You said 'one day' and _today_ is one day. Lawrence already went and now he's all special and stuff and Miss Katelyn said that our classes today were short anyway. No smack would notice if I weren't there, Zy."

He makes a face at her. "Keep talkin' like that and folk'll think you don't attend school at all. And put him down, he'll bite you if you're not careful."

Rose obliges, dropping the fox-cat unceremoniously. He lands on his feet and sends her a look. He's brushing up against her legs within seconds.

"Zy," Rose is undeterred by her grammar correction, "The streets aint safety. I know that. But I've been practin' my fightin' and I could take a smack."

Rose adopts a stance her brother taught her and he stifles the urge to laugh. Her black hair is a mess around her and he rolls her eyes, throwing her a comb. She fumbles for it and sends it skittering across the floor. Eclipse bounds after it, bringing it back to her. Zyon makes a face at the black creature's devotion.

"Firstly," Zyon says, finding her bag under the sink, "I don't give two shinies what Lawrence has or has not done in this beautiful life. If his older siblings or parents or what-have-you are all fine with him tumblin' 'round the streets, well, I am in no position to stop them. But you are _my_ sister and that means_ I_ decide 'xactly what places you roam. And the streets is not gonna be one of them, not if I can help it, Rosie." She opens her mouth to protest and he holds up a hand to shush her, packing her lunch as he goes. "_Second,_ it's bad 'nough we got some kinda critter hidin' in our livin' space. If we don't act like proper folk who aint done a wrong in our lives, you bet we gon' get Found, little girl. If you like Eclipse in any kinda way, you'll go to school and sit nice and do your work and not think 'bout the streets no more."

His tone is final. She huffs at him, slinging her bag over one shoulder and tearing at her hair with a comb. She storms away and he rolls his eyes. He can hear her in the kitchen, but he gives her space while he does the laundry.

Drying his hands, he finds her pouting on a stool, glowering at him. Her food is untouched and he sighs. "Eat your first meal," he tells her gently.

She jerks her nose into the air. "Aint hungry," she bites back.

He closes his eyes briefly, silently asking for patience. He picks up his own bowl and starts eating loudly. "Wow," he says between bites, "This first meal has got to be the best thing ever. Why, I doubt there's been a better meal in the whole of creation."

Rose's eyes slide towards him, but he ignores it.

"Huh," he says to Eclipse, "I bet you want some. Well, ok."

Zyon makes sure to slurp and smack his jaws just as much as possible. His spoon scrapes the empty bowl and he looks to his sister.

"Hey, Rosie, if'n' you're not gonna eat that…?" he reaches out one hand towards her food.

She instantly scoops it into her arms. "_Mine_," she hisses, grabbing a spoon from him. She glares at him and devours her portion without a word. She clunks down the container and hops off her chair. "Bye," she throws over her shoulder, "Just goin' to my _school_ where I'm bein' _educated._"

"Love you, Rose," he calls. She mumbles something and the door closes. He looks down at Eclipse, counts to ten. The door opens and Rose's shy face appears in the cracks. "Zy?" she whispers.

"Yes, darlin'?"

She looks down at the ground. "Sorry I yelled. I didn't mean nothing by it."

He crouches and opens his arms and she runs into them. He hugs her until she cannot breathe, and then just a little longer. She laughs and wriggles away.

"One day, Rosie, I promise," he tells her, looking into her eyes, "When I think you're ready. But you gotta wait until then, ok? In the meantime, you keep practicing those things I taught you."

She frowns. "If it t'aint safety, why do you go?"

He pushes her hair back from her eyes. "'Cause somebody's gotta, sweetness." He sees how sad she is at the thought of it and smiles. "Hey. Tell you what. I'll come home early-like today and pick you up from school."

The little girl knits her eyebrows. "Promise me you'll stay safety, Zy." She holds out her pinky.

Zyon loops his finger around hers, shaking. "I promise to stay safety if you do too, baby."

Rose hugs him again. "I love you, Zyon," she states, "You're pretty ok for a big brother."

"Thanks, girl," he laughs, standing and leading her outside, "I guess you're not half-bad for a sister."

"_You_ chose _me,_" she calls, running down their path to join her schoolmates, "Shoulda chosen better."

He watches her go and thinks he couldn't have chosen better if he'd tried.

_=={are falling down}==_

Beck wakes up cold and covered in sweat. His eyes catch the ceiling and he gets his heart beating normally. He closes his fingers into a fist.

His dad knocks twice and opens the door, peering in. "Nightmares again?" he asks. "Heard you callin' out in your sleep."

The teen rolls towards the wall. Pulls his covers up.

"Any… anyway, first meal is up. Buncha folks stopped by after you'd gone to sleep. I told 'em you'd had a hard one and were restin', and most were pretty understandin'. Few left notes." He waits for a reply. After a few minutes of silence, he mutters, "Just… just thought you should know." The door creaks shut.

Beck stares at the cracks in the wall. Does not cry.

He takes a deep breath and slowly stretches every muscle of his body, thinking as he goes. Last night he'd gone to bed earlier than he should have, but he'd been too tired to do much else. Guilt hits him and pulls him out of bed, into the wash room, into his clothing, into the kitchen.

He flips through the notes. Lots of simple things that could wait. A basket of herbs someone thought he could find a use for. Several thank-you foods. A supply of things he'd happen to mention he needs. No one died last night, as far as he could tell. He relaxes.

There's a knock on the door. Landa. She nods to Beck's father and sits down next to her friend, helping him sort the goods. She adds her own to the mix and together they start separating out the ingredients for their patients. After a while, Landa yawns and jumps up, shaking herself awake. He watches the curve of her body as she does so.

"Alright," she grins. "I'm thinkin' today everyone'll take a day off bein' sick. How about you?"

He rolls his eyes. "Why would you torture me with a question like this?"

She shrugs and rifles in her bag. "I'm makin' tea," she announces, "You're having some."

Beck shakes his head but can't stop the smile on his face. Landa's a lot of things, and she's also one of the only reasons he was tethered to the ground.

"I bet you haven't eaten, neither," she says. He avoids eye contact, but she knows she's right. She heaves a sigh. "_What_ are we going to _do_ with you, Beck?" she groans. She heats their water and makes them both food, humming as she does so. When he'd first seen her, she'd been covered in bruises, looking at him through one eye, begging him for death.

Beck's dad comes in at the smell of food. He sends Landa a thankful glance. "Without you, I swear Beck wouldn't eat at all," he chuckles. The joke falls flat and she gives him a tight smile in reply. His dad recognizes the silence that falls and takes his food in another room.

"So rounds for today," Landa changes the topic, putting Beck's meal in front of him, "What do we got?"

_=={falling down}==_

Rence waits out on his porch, yawning. "Deeter," she calls, "Hurry your crumbly self up."

"He can't find his pants," his little sister tells her, "He doesn't want you to see him mostly naked."

The teenager groans and leans her head in the door. "I seen it all before on others, smack. Nothin' I'm gon' be scared by."

"Give me _five tracks,_ Rence," he calls, "Father Almighty."

Rence makes a big deal about this, sighing loudly and leaning against his house. She examines her split ends.

Harper had woken her up with a first meal and a smile, shaky on her thin legs. The sickness has turned her nails black and brought their beds back to her first knuckle. At first Rence thought it was going to be a good day, but then Harp had started spewing things about the Father and they'd had to lock her up again. Rence had wrestled her to the floor and shoved a gag into her mouth.

Deeter bangs out of the house, shoving food into his mouth with one hand and tucking in his shirt with another. He rolls his eyes at her.

"Couldn't this have waited?" he says around his meal, "Mom's gonna kill me."

She prances down the steps. "What, put off goin' to the Heights? What kinda smack are you?"

He sighs and finishes eating, trailing behind her. The kids on their way to the streets call out her name and she offers shrugs and tiny waves in reply. Everyone likes Rence. They've seen what she'd do for her sister. Deeter gets kind of the same acknowledgement, but more in the context that he's her best friend than because he's special in any particular way.

She looks behind her shoulder and slows down to match his pace. "Haircuts and rations. How hard can this be? Don't suppose the Father could just smell our bad on us, could he?"

"You legitimately just want to kill me," he tells her as the ground starts to slope upwards, "Go 'head. Just jibble every single detail of my life to strangers."

She grins. "Well," she says in a loud voice. He claps his hand over her mouth to stop her and she bites him. He protests and she snaps at the air, clicking her teeth together, making a joke about it. She's light on her feet and already bouncing into a jog.

"It's a bad day, isn't it?" he asks.

She breaks out into a run.

_=={falling}==_

"Meow," says Jason. Carrie rolls her eyes.

"Meow yourself," she laughs, fixing her shirt. New clothing bothers her. "How was last night? Sam stay over?"

Jason's long eyelashes flutter. "Don't see how it rightly affects you, but yes."

Carrie pulls her hair up into a pony tail, catches sight of the scars on her neck, drops her hands. Takes a deep breath, does it again and does not look at her reflection.

A long, long time ago, she had picked up a blade. Sometimes her heart beats _undo, undo, undo._

"Where we goin' today?" he wants to know, shadowing her as they make their way past the farmlands and into the tight city.

"Well _I_ have to go help some street-kid get his medical gear together or something. Miss Kate says he comes highly recommended and he'd take a look at Kas if I was nice, so I guess I gotta be nice and proper."

Jason snorts down his nose. "You don't even know what proper _is_, little lady."

"You should talk," she retorts, "Seein' the kinda mischief you and Sam is up to."

He squares his shoulders and drops a shiny for food, pocketing it for his pets. "I am _mon-o-gam-ous_," he declares, "I don't see a thing wrong with that at all."

She rolls her eyes. "_Sure,_ you're just the Father above. Pure, aint ya? Why don't we take you to the Heights and see just how pure that goes? Better yet, let's ask Micah just how _monogamous_ you are."

Jason lets out a long sigh. "Can't help I'm irresistible," he says, winking. She laughs and lets him take her hand. They wander for a bit, picking out food and shinies and supplies for later. She stops by her work and gets the description and instructions of her charge.

They pad to the front gate, waiting outside the guarded door. He challenges her to a card game, which he cheats at. They end up drawing a crowd and eventually the subject of Carrie and her knives comes up which is how she ends up on a table, throwing one behind her shoulder with one eye closed. She's supposed to hit a target fifty feet away.

"Alright," Jason calls over the shouts, "Bets placed that she misses go in the bag. Bets that she hits and we all go home and cry go to me. Takers?"

Carrie closes her eyes as the noise swells.

Her father had held her hand and showed her how to flick her wrist _just so._ His smile had been with wrinkles around his eyes.

She takes a deep breath. Wishes Prime was here to steady her hands. Like usual, she has to do it herself.

Forward, back. She can see the arc of the blade before she's let go. Her fingers leave the handle and she tenses. The moment of the curve through the air is the one that taunts her. She closes her eyes.

It echoes where it hits and she turns. Her knife is shuddering in the center of the wood. She wishes she had missed.

Cheers and shouts meet her as she hops off the table. She trots to her blade and sheathes it, ignoring the others. After she's thrown, she just kind of becomes invisible. No longer special. No longer useful.

A hand taps her and she twists down, has his throat at her metal's edge without thinking. He holds up his arms to show he's friendly and takes a step back.

"Sorry," he doesn't look very sorry, just annoyed, "I was told to look for the girl with a knife habit. I assume you're her?" He has grey eyes and smooth, tan skin.

"Who's asking?" she hisses. Thinks about how fast she could run. Points her knife at him still.

"Beck. They said you'd show me to the supplies." He looks more like he would prefer anything other than spending time with her, but she can't really blame him. She thinks about the scars on her neck and collarbones, the ones that peek out and snake under her clothes. Ugly.

_Never show them your weakness_, Prime had whispered to her, _Do not turn from anyone._ He had trailed kisses down her neck and sank his teeth into the soft of her skin.

"Beckett Dane?" she clarifies. "You're Beckett Dane?"

"_Beck,_" he growls.

She backs towards Jason."Can I see your ring?" She's always supposed to ask but she can already tell by his pack that he's a healer. He flashes the thick silver band anyway, and she leads him through the crowd.

"Jace," she calls, "Our meat is here."

"Go on without me," he shouts back, "I seem to have discovered another person interested in _monogamy._"

She does not roll her eyes even though she wants to. "Alright," she says finally, "This way." She wishes Kas was with her. The idea makes her heart drop. _Be nice_, she reminds herself. "So," she tries for cheery, "I'm Carrie Ashlyn."

He cuts those endless-fog eyes over to her at the change in her attitude but lets her lead him out of the square. Doesn't say anything, just shifts his bag.

"So," she's not sure how else to approach the subject, "Do you mind if we check out my animals before we get your things."

She watches as his eyes cut to the sky and he takes a deep breath. He shrugs. "I can't guarantee I'll be any help, but I don't see why not, given the charming welcome you've given me." His voice is smooth and sweet. She does her best not to notice it.

The blonde gives him a sheepish smile. "Sorry," she mutters, "A little jumpy 'round new folk, I guess."

He shrugs again. "Probably shouldn't have touched you," he admits, "But aint the blades just a little overkill?"

Scars and scars of overkill.

"Nah," she says, "You coulda been some deadly smack for all I knew. Don't pay to take chances in Havoc."

Beck falls silent at that, so she lets him. They're at her barn before he breaks the quiet. "Just how did you make that shot?" he wonders.

She grins and offers him a wink in reply, shouldering the doors open and shouting out to the house that she's home. She leads her healer to the pile of straw that Kas is sleeping in, his little vixen paws twitching.

The brunette drops to the ground and holds out one hand for Kas to sniff sleepily. After that, the boy does the routine check-up that Carrie can no longer afford from Havoc doctors. Once in a while Beck stops and rubs at his eyes. In those instants, she becomes aware of just how tired he looks.

He stands up and brushes off his hands. "Well, I'm sorry on a few accounts. Mostly that I'm not good with critter-folk at all, but I've done the best I can to be certain the little fella is up and workin'. Next I'm right proper sorry I can't hand you the medicine I think he needs, 'cause there's human-folk that need that stuff firstly."

She goes from human into husk.

"_But_," he continues, stretching, "I can show you how to make the things Kas needs. _After_ you take me to where my medicine is waitin', though. I got folk countin' on me, and I'm 'fraid I can't spend too much time here just wanderin' 'bout gettin' my neck slashed at by some blonde girl."

"_Thank you_," she breathes, holding her arms tight against her body, "Thank you so much, Beckett. I… I don't know what…"

He holds up his hands. "If you're fixin' to pay me, you best do yourself a payment and never call me Beckett again. That should end this contract 'bout fairly."

She scoops up her little ball of fur, feeling the heave of his tiny ribcage. Holds him close and starts walking, wondering how exactly she's supposed to thank someone for holding together her heart.

_=={down}==_

By the time they make it to the Heights, Deeter has had to shut Rence up exactly forty-six times and has had to hold her back thrice. She's pouting now, practically sulking. "Let's just do this," she mutters at him, "Heights people are crumbly at the best."

Deeter leads her to a hair salon where they stand in line before being separated because of their gender. A woman pulls her away and for a second she looks back and their eyes meet. She lifts one hand as if to reach for him, but drops it before it gets anywhere.

They take Deeter into the boy's side and sit him down in a chair. The woman smiles at him and shows him the scissor choice. He hates his haircuts probably less than Rence does because she doesn't really understand the necessary banter of the shops.

"Happy train to you," the woman smiles, taking out a ruler and holding against his head, "You're exactly two and a half centimeters from regulation."

He stiffens. He had no idea his hair was getting so long. "May the Father forgive me," he states, "I will do my best to correct this situation."

"We all do our best," she beams. She wants to die. He can see it in her eyes.

"We do," he murmurs, stares at himself, thinks of Rence, "We do."

_=={oh the streets}==_

Nikka wakes up and her stomach is so empty that she retches. The insides of her feel scraped clean. She drags herself to her feet and tries to judge the time, but in the streets that's nearly impossible. Her mouth tastes terrible, but at least she still has her things.

She puts one hand out against the wall, more to steady herself than to find her way. Her head is swimming. She gags and leans over, the hunger cramps knitting into her sides. She holds out one shaky hand and examines her fingers. Her nails are turning blue. She can see the sharp bones of her skeleton jutting against her skin.

The girl starts walking and thinks maybe if she dies here, her daddy will remember he has a daughter.

_=={are falling down}==_

"Ugh," says Bree, flopping onto her back, "_Ugh._"

Zyon looks at her over the bolt of teal cloth he's pulled from the streets. He's pulling it taunt, looking for flaws.

She heaves a sigh. "I mean, _ugh,_" she repeats. One arm goes up over her eyes. "Really, really, _ugh._"

He takes the bait. "What's wrong, Bree?" He finds a stain and marks it for later.

The blonde flips over onto her side, propping herself up on an elbow. _"Well_," she begins, but then her entire body tenses. He recognizes the reaction and starts listening.

Echoing down the tight hallways of the streets, there are voices. Twenty people, at the least. Younger than Bree and Zyon, from what it sounds like, but twenty people was still more than either of them could handle.

He cuts off as much fabric as he can and shoves it into his bag without a word. He stashes the rest in a pile, but he doubts it's going to be there when he gets back. Bree's already on her feet, hands on her bag, ready to run. They creep down to the ground, flinching every time their movement sends things skittering.

As soon as his feet are on more even turf, Zyon feels better. It doesn't stop them from running, but it makes him less positive he's about to be dead. They bolt in the opposite direction of the noises, running as quietly as they can away from the certain death behind them.

After a while, they're both out of breath but alive. Bree sends him a relieved look and turns a corner, and this is how she runs into the boy who is waiting for her.

"Hello," he says, looming over her, "I'm Craig. Now, I don't want things to get dis-civil here, so let's all just do the right smart thing and hand over your stuff afore I hand you over to the next train."

Bree tries to run, but when she turns, they're surrounded. She puts her back against Zyon's and absently reaches for his hand. He squeezes it and she sends the gang around them a bright smile. "Rightly I would," she sings, "But I aint got nothin'. My bag's empty as the fog." She puts one hand against the wall of the tunnel and Zyon puts one hand against her. She skims the debris idly. "Why don't you young things just let us go and we'll call it shiny?"

The first boy leans back on his heels. "I told you," he says, "I didn't want things all dis-civil. Now I gotta beat you up. That's my time and my effort. So mind you, this is gonna hurt me more than it's gonna kill you."

"Probably," Zyon agrees, and punches Craig in the face. The boy goes down, but the minute it's happened, the tension breaks and they're swarmed.

Bree rips a lamp out from the rubble and cracks the stained-glass lampshade over someone's head. She wraps the cord around a boy's neck and swings the blunt end right into a girl's face.

"Let's_ go,_" Zyon growls. He shakes a pair of teeth off of him and starts working towards the end of the passageway.

The blonde agrees. but then someone lands a hit on her and the air escapes her lungs. Another finds her jaw and she starts seeing black tinge her vision. From the sounds behind her, Zyon's not doing too well, either. There's too many of them. A fist finds her throat. She chokes and takes someone down with a blind swing, but she can't breathe and she's knocked off balance and everything is just anger and rage and pain and she hears Zyon breathe "_I promised Rose_," and then everything goes white.

_=={don't}==_

When Dill drops off the bag and gets their payment, she happens to glance down at her fingers.

They're covered in blood and black.

She just wipes them off on her pants and thinks of vowels.

_=={tell}==_

"Rence," he tries, seeing the look on her face. "It's ok."

She plays with her newly shortened hair and doesn't look at him. He can feel her anxiety rolling off her shoulders.

"We'll get our rations and go. You don't need to stay here much longer, I promise."

Her hazel eyes cut to him. "Now you're talkin' like 'em," she hisses, "I hate their fancy talk."

It's like she is actually trying to die. His eyes widen and he grabs her hand without thinking, tugging her towards the rations building. She yanks it from his grasp, anger writing across her face.

"_Deeter_," she growls, "Don't you_ ever –_" Rence stops herself and straightens her spine. He sees her take all that rage and just shove it into some dark space. She just stalks into the building and nods at the girl behind the counter. "I'm Florence Louise Grey, here to pick up my rations?"

The girl's blue eyes catch Rence's. Judging from the look, she recognizes the slight street accent that Rence has never been able to run away from. "I'm Stephanie," the black-haired teen says, "Would you prefer to look by yourself or shall I do it for you?"

"By myself is rightly fine," Rence grins, hearing the same hidden street lilt, "If it pleases you."

Deeter signs in too and they head up the stairs and Rence scans the long aisles for the box she's looking for. They pass a tiny frail Heights girl with no meat on her bones and Deeter's smile goes unreturned.

"Look," he says when they're alone, "I'm sorry I pulled you. I know you hate that."

She doesn't look at him. She ignores him as she holds up her grey rations card against boxes, trying to match the colors.

He sends his eyes to the ceiling. "It's not like I meant to hurt you, Rence."

Her eyes cut to him and her mouth opens. Her jaw works. She's doing her very best not to make a scene, so she doesn't say anything, just keeps walking.

Deeter groans and trails after her. "_Father,_ Rence, I –"

Sirens. Louder than they'd even been in the street. Rence blindly reaches for him, pulls him close against her body, for an instant just wraps her fingers into the front of his shirt, terrified. Something clicks and he can see her lips form the word _Harper_ before she's sprinting out of the store.

She makes it as far as the girl Stephanie before the world explodes. The teens fall to the ground as the ground lurches. Glass and wood rain from the sky. Deeter crouches next to Rence, covering her body as much as possible with his own. He can't think. He can't move. He feels her trembling and holds her tighter.

Heat, heat and desolation and it just goes on and on and on.

_=={Father.}==_

Sammy takes the little girl's clothing and makes a shine to her. He carves her name into his skin, right above the others.

He kneels down and puts his hands to his lips and prays _please let this be the last please let this be the last._

Does not cry.

XXXXXXXX

_**A.N:**_Sorry this is late, darlings. My computer restarted and deleted half of it and then continued to shut down mid-scene, so this is actually Chapter Four, version six-and-a-half, give or take.

Rigby and Dill are the creation of my dear Hitoshura-ha.

I am sorry I cannot spell Rigby's name correctly_._ I have been watching too many episodes of the Mentalist and for some reason I just assume everyone's name is Rigsby. ):

I've been asked this about nine times, so officially: yes, you may send more than one person, just ask me first so I know it's coming :)

Thank you so much to those who review! Honestly I can't stress enough how much it means to me that you support me. I get pretty anxious about my writing, so knowing that I don't suck/this story isn't too off the rails is a good feeling. So go ahead and tell me what to name that Growlithe (seriously please I can't think of anything I'm dying), tell me how crazy I am for writing a story based off my dreams, tell me your secrets. And again, those who do review... I love you all so much.

Alright cool cats. I am away this weekend, so I'll see you guys two Fridays from now. I hope you all have a wonderful and safe Halloween, and I'll see you in November :)

Take Care.


	5. Chapter 5

_**The Lost One**s_

_{A story about tombstones.}  
_

_You can't save everyone_, she'd said, pushing back his hair and brushing the dirt off his shoulders. His hands had been too big for his body. She had kissed his knuckles one by one.

Later she would push him to the ground, screaming and retching at the sight of him, tearing at her skin and kicking him in the ribs, begging him _please just die already._

Blood on the floor and his mind had shrieked_ I'm trying, I'm trying._

She'd put her cold hands to his forehead when he had fevers and would whisper lullabies instead of loud noises. He can feel the warmth of her heart when he closes his eyes. _You can't save everyone._

Beck stands up. The body at his feet is blue under the skin, like the sky is filling in where her soul no longer is.

They wrap up the little girl with all her missing pieces and carry her to the building. Seven flights of stairs to the roof. She looks small next to the bundles of others. Beck closes one person's eyes as he passes. The girl is lighter than he thinks she should be.

She fits snugly between two teenagers. They look like they are family. Her hands cross her chest in such a way that her wounds look insignificant. The bruising in her lips matches her mother's eyes.

Her father says a prayer and Beck scans the rooftop for alive ones, the goodbye ones. He finds two and waits until the words are finished before giving them food and running a preliminary check on them. They are Departed and still breathing. He thinks this is not the worst fate allowed.

His mother had slowly plucked out the hair on the left side of her head. She would twirl each one in her fingertips and give them the same kiss she administered to his cuts and scrapes. She had called him over and made him count each one. _You. Can't._

Beck returns to the family's side and nods towards the exit. If they are on the rooftop when the train comes, they are Departed, end of story.

The little girl's mother sits down and starts to cry. She is dragged downstairs by her husband. She lashes out and begs for help. Beck stands by and watches it happen. He gets them back into their house and then cleans the girl's organs from the floorboards.

His mother had long fingers. She had pulled at the skin of her face as if trying to expose the bone of her eyes, as if by digging her nails in deeper she would have been able to step out of her meatsack. She had kept him up at night whispering_ I will be beautiful and honest._ Her nails had left long scars on his shoulder blades.

Once he has made the family tea and laid out their food, he allows himself to retreat outside.

He keeps a list in his back pocket of the people that he has failed. He adds the girl's name and continues on with his day.

_=={Rock-a-bye, baby}==_

"We are not gods," Prime says. His fingers stich seams together while his words repair her heart.

He is a spider spinning a web. It is beautiful. "We could have been," he admits, "We could have been the saviors and angels of us all. Do you know where we have failed?"

Nikka shakes her head.

"Books," he tells her, "Books and ideas. The thing about ideas, my dear, is that when they are unwritten, they possess a quantum potential energy that is unrivaled in the physical world. An idea unspoken, an idea unshared: well, that is the idea that can be anything. That is the idea that powers us."

The needle in his hand flashes and he tugs the string taunt. "But we thought we were special enough to write, darling. We were special enough to make miles and miles of bookshelves. And then do you know what we did with them?"

Rapt, she doesn't respond.

"We let them change us," he hisses, "We let ink under our skin, we fell in love with characters and we fell in love with pages. We fell in love with the smell of the binding and we fell in love with libraries. This weakness towards the written word, well… That's all that stopped us from becoming beautiful. Instead of fighting wars, we sit on floors and cry at deaths. Instead of building empires, we curl up in window seats and solve a murder. Think about that. With all of that escapism, it's not surprising we weren't present enough in the world to evolve." He shakes his head, looks to her. "Understand?"

She runs her tongue over her teeth. "I think so," she bites her lip. "But what's a library?"

_=={in the}==_

Her lip is cracked, and it hurts where the blood inches through. She has not had water for two (_two_? two.) days now. She stares at the building that Prime had specified.

He had threaded her black hair through his fingertips and whispered _what if we didn't have to cut this off_?

A man passes by, so skinny that he shakes when he walks. Anya had looked like that, stick-thin and rimmed-ribs. Wasting.

Anya had sliced the skin off of bitter tubers and put them in the pot for her little sister, grinning her sky-touched smile. _Listen girl_, she had said,_ Learn to love the little things_.

Taylor does not love anything. Her sister's skin had sloughed off into the soup and into their lives and had made everything taste bitter. There isn't a food in the kingdom that has lost the taste of Anya.

The train comes. Again the light is too blinding and the Departed are gone. Taylor stands and her bones click-crack back into place. She sucks at the cut on her lip and slips out of hiding.

_Eat, little bird_, says Anya's memory. Worried eyes that had turned black as the bitter frost, rolling eyes that had eaten up the world in slick bites, crunch crunch.

Taylor eats because that is what Anya would have wanted and for no other reason. She remembers to drink. This time.

They'd said maybe forty trains left. It was Taylor's fault. She should have hoarded every moment, cashed in the forty days at a methodical plod.

Instead they'd crashed by so quickly she'd forgotten to count them.

She picks up her bag and starts walking to the streets, sucking on her canteen. The water is warm and it tastes like Anya.

==_{streets now}==_

She is frail. He tries to hide that fact from himself, handing her meals that are too heavy for her shaking hands. When she looks at him, he wishes she would cut him in two.

He is cleaved already, as it is. The shadow taken from the tangible.

"Hey, mo-mo," he smiles, avoiding those blue eyes, checking her dress for holes, dancing his gaze across anything else, "How's lunch?"

Owen glances up but she's staring out the window, craning her neck. "Where's your brother?" she wants to know. Doesn't touch her food. He doesn't make her yet.

"Mason? He's at school, mom. Actually, they've got a short day so -"

"Connor, I mean." She used to be a healthy body instead of a bag of bones. Her sorrow had pecked the meat off of her in little crow bites.

"...So I've got to go pick him up," Owen finishes. "Eat your soup, mom." He stands up and brushes off his hands. "I got us some shinies from the streets. Maybe we can trade 'em tomorrow at market, huh? Getcha somethin' nice?"

"I'm not insane," his mother says blithely, "I know he's gone." Fixes him with her water-eyed stare and Owen swallows vomit. "But where'd did they take him? Where do the Departed go? Why can't I bury my son?"

Owen gives a half-shrug and rips away from her gaze, shouldering his bag. "I'll be back soon," he tells her, promises her like Connor had, "Finish your soup." Does not look at her and her eyes (Connor's blue eyes, eyes that had opened real wide right before, a mouth fishing for words that came out blood-stained and splattered with death, spilling right over his lips as the tremble of his heart had just stopped) and her sad-pecked body.

Leaves, like everyone else had.

==_{if}==_

She plays with his fingers and catches sight of infinity inside the whorls of his fingerprint. She gets anxious without reason, sometimes, waiting for the moment when he wakes up and sees her for who she is. Awkward Dill. Nothing-special Dill. Always-trouble Dill.

But then he looks at her and she becomes Everything Dill.

Dill has trouble looking at people directly. She's afraid if she makes eye contact, she'll find their souls curled up in their irises, sleeping soundly.

Rigby had frozen, the first time she'd done it to him. They'd been curled up in the burned remains of a cabin, her slim frame propped up on one elbow as they swapped facts about themselves. She'd caught his heart on the hook of her smile, staring down at him. The words had shriveled up in his mouth, crackling against his tongue. He made a tiny noise and fell for her so hard that he's bloodied his fingers trying to get out.

They sit and pass a half-decent soup back and forth. The sirens are sounding, but no one panics. It's the Cliffs. If the Father is coming, there's no use running.

"The Showing is coming up," Rigby notes, squinting his eyes and peering at the fog above them. "A train or two, I believe."

Somewhere, someone shrieks. The noise is cut short.

Dill shrugs and spoons a tuber into her mouth. "We'll start the climb up later, I expect," she decides. Stiffens when there's a clatter in the alley next to them.

Rigby calmly loads his crossbow. The low moan of the Vex tumbles towards them. Rigby shoots once, because that's all they need. He's already back to eating by the time the body hits the ground.

The thin girl sniffs the air. "Fire Vex, I assume," she says, "Smells awful burnt."

Rigby lifts one shoulder, lets it fall. Rigby is beautiful. Dill is not.

"More of 'em, lately," she says over a far-off howl, "Fire used to be less frequent, far as I remember."

Someone runs past their hiding place, screaming. Dill gives her maybe two more minutes before the Vexes get her. Crunches thoughtfully on her food.

"Do... do you expect we're doin' the right thing, Rigby?"

His nose twitches and he looks at her, takes in her thin frame and scabby knees and eyes that hold the whole universe in them. "Well, it's what we gotta do," he says slowly, "So it's gotta be right."

She puts her hands down and rips them back to her chest when they encounter wetness. She's been sitting in a pool of blood without noticing.

Dill wipes her palms off on her front and keeps eating.

==_{you}==_

He does not like that Carrie girl, but here she is again, pouting, blonde hair pulled back from her face. She glares at him. His eyebrows twitch up his forehead.

"I said _you_ were ok. I didn't say you could bring any kinda smack you chose," she snaps.

Landa doesn't blink. She and her partner are both street-trained. They can practically smell how Carrie is all posture.

"You have a partner, don't see why I'm not allowed one," Beck retorts, nodding to Jason. Landa catches the other boy's eyes and a slow smile spreads across her face. Beck knows that look. His impression of Jason softens instantly.

"Because I aint here on business matters. Certainly not gonna try anything. All we know, this smack's got some wreck of a history."

Landa had leaned over a basin, puking up blood. He had wiped the back of her neck while she'd cried. _I'm sorry_, she'd said, _I knew this would happen_.

"Look," Beck sighs, "We need to hurry up, ok?" Doesn't like being in Havoc, wouldn't be if it wasn't an emergency. He does not look at Carrie's scars. "Landa's ok."

Carrie's eyes trail down Landa's slim frame and back up. She purses her lips, opens her mouth to protest. Jason puts one hand on her and shakes his head.

"When in the history of Havoc has a healer actually been crumbly?" he asks, his eyes trained on Landa. He gets that slow recognition look, winks at her. "And 'sides, she seems sky."

"Whatever," Carrie mumbles, "Don't blame me if she gets flighty though." Her fingers don't rest. They touch her arms, drop, dance over her ribs and hips, wrap around her stomach.

Jason offers Landa his elbow and she takes it, giggling. The two of them lead the way.

Carrie crosses her arms over her chest. She stomps down the streets. Beck with his long legs has little trouble keeping up with her. Part of him doesn't want to even bother, but she's his ticket into the medical building.

"She's pretty," Carrie spits eventually, "Very..._ blonde_."

"Yeah," Beck's eyes trace the shoulders-spine-hips of his girl, "She's beautiful."

Landa had stood at the tracks and said_ I can't handle this any more. I just want it to be over._ When he had wrestled her towards safety, his large hands around her wrists, she had started to cry, squirming under him and begging him not to hit her.

Carrie cuts her eyes to the ground. He sees some part of her shut down and it makes her look soft. "So... you... like her?"

Beck blinks at the question. "Of course," he says, "Isn't that obvious?"

_Let me die please I can't go home please Beck please please please I can't do this Beck._ She had screamed at him, had sobbed his name into his shoulder, had shoved him and had punched him and had curled up next to him in bed, her thin arms around his torso, her lips whispering secrets against his skin. He had held her until she'd stopped shaking. It had taken days. She still cries out in her sleep.

Carrie's lean arms wrap tighter around her body like she is trying to squeeze her demons out. "That's good," she chokes out. Doesn't say anything for a while. "H-how-" has to clear her throat, "How long have you two been together?" Tries to crush herself into little bits between her limbs.

Beck can't help himself, he bursts out laughing. The look that crosses her face is so stricken by his amusement that he cuts himself short, but the grin stays on his face. "I'm not with Landa," he tells her, "I will _never_ be with Landa. I'm not her type."

Carrie looks down at her long sleeves and hears Prime's voice whisper _aren't you tired of being nobody's girl?_

Maybe the healer picks up on how far she travels so quickly, because he rolls his eyes. "Meaning that I'm a guy," he explains blandly, "She doesn't really go for people like me."

He had sat with Landa as she stitched her own wound. _I didn't really mind telling daddy_, she had stated, _He would have found a reason to be mad at me anyway._

Her girlfriend had gone down in the streets half a year ago. Landa had not cried. She had been Beck-touched by then, and everyone he lays hands on ends up just shriveling away.

He had not been able to save Landa, either. He is good for nothing at all.

_=={mess up}==_

Dill smells the mud Vex before he's on them, but it's still not enough time. He's half skinless and his bones shine through the muscle under his eyes. He's on top of her before she can gasp.

Her friend kicks the monster in the face and the impact leaves a dent. The man is melting already, trapping Dill under his skin. She tries to breathe but he's leaking into her mouth and her nose. She gags and retches, fighting against the man who is muck. Her limbs flail but where she comes in contact with the Vex, she sticks. She's drowning in blood and flesh.

Rigby slaps one hand over his face to ward off the smell and finds a piece of Dill that has yet to be swallowed by the man. He drags her out, pretending not to hear her scream as the top layer of her skin is removed where the contact is broken. He yanks her to her feet and does not hug her even though he wants to. He starts running, his hand so tightly around hers that he knows she's hurting, but at least the pain will be centralized. He runs until he gets dangerously close to Havoc, and then stops, curling her into a corner and running his hands over her face.

She's bleeding in some places, but not badly. Panting, horrified, raw-looking. Not happy.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers, "I should have seen..." doesn't end the sentence, she knows already. Her head hurts. It was slammed against a cobblestone when he dragged her out. Her mouth has pieces of man in it.

She stares at him, turns, and vomits.

_=={you soon}==_

In the beginning, Addison wore the touch of his mother's love like a halo on his skin. He was one of the halfway kids, not quite streets and not quite Heights, never starving but never full, never hunted but never safe.

One morning he woke up and instead of a halo, he wore shame.

==_{will be Found}==_

She is a pocket of a person. She is stuffed with the debris of a life and she can feel it jostle inside of her when she breathes. Sometimes, late at night, she pulls out all of the things that have been crammed into her and reorganizes them, turning them around in her mind until their edges are worn smooth.

The first problem she has with herself is her name. It is a scabbed wound but she picks at it until it scars, because it is the most simple element of her dysfunction.

Her spine is against a wall of the streets. She's waiting for someone when the sirens go off, but she doesn't flinch. If they come and get her, ok. She will be spirited away to where she is no longer named, where her soul finally fills all the cracks of her skin.

"Taylor," his voice is the smooth caress he always saves for her, "Right in time."

Prime is a grin-split spider and she shouldn't trust him. She smiles without meaning to.

By his side is a would-be-pretty long thin girl with a scar that sucks Taylor's eyes towards it.

"This is Nikka," he explains, "She's going to help you, I hope." He guides her forwards and she trips on her own feet a little.

Taylor does not take the hand that Nikka offers, but the girl doesn't look like she's surprised. Her palm drops and she curls inwards like she's used to being rejected. Taylor thinks _welcome to the real world, sweetie._

Prime doesn't like the development. "Nikka is your elder," he states, "You should treat her like an older sister."

The words are specified to slice her open. He knows exactly how much they would hurt.

"Fine," she spits, "Glad to meet you, Nikka. I'm Taylor Lydia. Try to keep up." She turns and starts walking.

Prime's admonishment is slipping like sand between the items in her head. She is waiting for the moment when it all becomes too much and she spills over onto the ground, the contents of her mind soaking the soil.

Anya had looked at her from the ground and whispered _what if this is all your fault?_

==_{and then, little darlings}==_

Deeter wakes up with Rence curled around him, her slim frame pressed against his body, their legs tangled, her breathing slow. She smells like fire and soil and sweetness. For a moment, he considers going back to sleep and letting himself have this.

But when he sighs, his mouth tastes like ashes. He nudges Rence and her street-training makes her jolt awake. She springs to her feet, grabbing her bag. He's already back-to-back with her, his center of balance low, ready for a fight.

They're standing in the center of rubble. Everything is smoking hell. The ration building lays with its innards exposed, coughing debris and dust into the air.

"_Father_," Deeter breathes.

"Yeah," Rence states, turning to face him. Her eyes widen. "Deeter..." Her hands shake as they raise to his face. She touches his skin lightly and when she pulls her fingers back, they are covered in dirt and blood. "You..." She does not thank him for the injuries he sustained in her stead. Instead she pushes him in his chest. "You're awful stupid, aint ya?"

He grins.

"Hello?" a frail voice drifts to their ears. "Is anyone there? Help me, please, if you can hear me."

Rence moves before the sentence is finished. She skids towards the sound, ducking her head to hear better. It comes from under lumber and stone, but Rence is undeterred. She starts digging before Deeter has even registered the problem, but once he has, he's beside her.

"Hey," Rence calls, "My name is Rence and this is Deeter and we're gonna git you outta there, kay?"

When Deeter moves, he becomes aware of every aspect of himself that has been torn apart. There's a burn running up his ribcage and his back is a mottled exploration of pain levels. He sucks in through his teeth and keeps working. Doesn't mention it.

"Oh," the voice sighs, "Thank... thank you so much... I thought I was..." the dull panic of desperation is evident in the way the voice trembles.

"Now, none of that," Rence says sharply, "You're good as sky with Deeter on the job." Deeter does not jump with surprise at the compliment, even though his heart does. "Now, can I have your name? You gotta keep talkin' so I know where to get at."

"...Nisse," she says softly, and Deeter pretends not to notice Rence is digging so fiercely that her fingers start to shred, "Well, Stephanie. We met before."

"Oh yeah, the streets girl," Rence sounds bright, but they both know what will happen if they don't get Nisse out soon. There's no way to judge how much time passed, but every instant is one too many. Soon people will explore the rubble, looking for survivors. They had to get out before then. No one was supposed to be as close to being Found as they were. The punishment was death.

"So, Nisse," Deeter says, "Can you dig through to us?"

"I... Yeah, I can try," her voice sounds closer and stronger already. The beams and stones skitter in all directions as the three teens scramble towards each other.

"What do ya think called the Father on us, Nisse?" Rence asks.

"I think it was that thin girl that went in before you guys. She tripped the alarms. Musta been tryin' to take something. You know how the Heights are about that."

They do know. Deeter says a quiet prayer for the girl. He hopes she dies quickly.

"The Showing is soon," Deeter says, "How you feel about that?"

He can hear her snort even through the layers of rubble. "Oh, I'm excited," she states dryly.

"Where'd you get Nisse? T'aint a usual Heights kinda title," Rence calls.

"It t'aint," Nisse agrees. They can hear her close, trapped under what was left of the reception desk and a fallen slab of roof. "But would'ja guess a Hieghts folk gave it to me? Smack named Neil." Rence asks about the boy and Nisse answers and pretty soon the only thing standing in their way is a slab of concrete. The two on the outside wrap their hands around the edges and tug.

Someone shouts. Although they're sheltered by the degree of destruction around them, it's only a matter of time before they're discovered.

"Can you push the roof bit, Nisse?" Deeter shouts. She calls back her agreement and for a few seconds it seems like their combined strength isn't going to be enough, but then it scrapes against the ground in tiny fractions.

Footsteps and chatter are already around them but Rence doesn't appear to care. She turns red and then white with the exertion. Deeter is in so much pain it is like being in no pain at all.

They make a small gap and Nisse's face appears. A few more inches and she can fit her shoulders through.

She sticks her arms out and Rence yanks her through, ignoring the scraping sound as the concrete skins the slim teen.

Nisse falls to the ground but Deeter yanks her to her feet. Doesn't need to tell her why they're running, but from the uneven measure of her pace, her leg is broken, probably in more than one place. He slides one arms under her to keep her upright. There are tears in her eyes but she doesn't slow down.

"There's an emergency escape this way," she breathes, her pain etched across her face, "We should be able to get out of here. From there we can get back to my house without too many people seeing us."

Rence darts ahead, clearing the way. The way she skitters her gaze over Deeter, she knows he's hurt even though he's hiding it. She finds the broken door and the sharp edge of metal shears her palms open. She clutches her hands to her chest, shouldering an opening and ducking out. Deeter slides Nisse through and then himself, his shirt tearing as he goes.

"That way," Nisse points. She's at the point of pain where she's holding her breath to keep from screaming.

They duck into the trees, but with the perfectly planted rows, they're still visible from the roads. People are already swarming the ruins of the building. Anyone left inside is as good as dead.

Nisse has to slow down, her teeth clenched. She leans more and more on the startling pain down Deeter's side, but he doesn't say anything.

"We're not far," she wheezes, "Once we're home, we just have to clean up and act like nothing happened."

Rence has slowed down, too. She keeps her hands in little claws against her like she's scared to find out how deeply those cuts go. She sticks herself under Nisse without a thought, pretends not to notice that Deeter's ready to drop.

They walk in silence, keeping to the shadows. Nisse occasionally mumbles a direction. Deeter is starting to see stars. He digs his fingers into his palms and doesn't say anything, just closes one eye against the dizziness and keeps trudging along.

When Nisse spots the back of her house, an actual smile finds her lips. Rence hands her off to Deeter to make sure they're alone and then comes back and helps them both inside, putting Nisse's leg up on a chair and getting Deeter to sit down.

Everything she touches leaves smeared blood and from the way she's teetering, she's feeling the effects. He doesn't say anything because she wouldn't want him to.

Once they are settled, she plops into a chair and heaves a sigh. "Rightly," she says, "Here's what is gonna happen. Nisse, you and I are gonna bathe first 'cause I can help you with that leg and Deeter has got guy parts you don't need to see. Then my Deets boy is gonna get in, and I am going to fix him as best I can so it's not mighty obvious where we been. Havin' had the privilege already of seein' him naked as the day he was born, I don't expect I'll be much surprised by his undercarriage, so-to-speak."

Deeter opens his mouth to protest and she holds up one hand to hush him without thinking. In that instant, he sees what she did to get them out of there. Her bones are showing.

"You got too much issue with that, you can wrap a towel 'round yourself. Now, Nisse, you gotta call us some healer. I'll make up a story, but you get us the doc, 'kay? Can't do much like this. 'Sides, every smack knows Heights healers are the best."

Nisse looks worn-down and empty. She nods. "I've got extra clothes and food for you guys, too." When Rence looks uncomfortable, Nisse shakes her head. "You saved my life, Rence. Your hands...and Deeter..."

Rence looks ready to deny the offering still, so Deeter speaks for her. "Alright. Go."

He helps Nisse to her feet and the two make it to the bathroom. Deeter spends his time alone to go through the kitchen, putting a stew of leftovers on for when they get out. Rence needs to eat as soon as she can, or she's going to faint.

He hurts. Every part of him hurts.

But he had woken up with her fingers wrapped in his shirt and her head tucked under his chin. The ghost of her body lingers with him. And that just hurts his heart.

_=={with sharpened tooth}==_

Owen gets to his brother's school later than he meant to, so Mason's already sitting on the steps, his head in his hands. Two little girls sit by him, chatting.

"Hey, there, soldier," Owen grins, "Ready to go home?"

Mason looks like their dad and not their mother. It is one of the things that Owen thanks the universe for on a daily basis.

Connor had the same smile and the same square nose. Connor had erupted into death with their mother's blue eyes and a whole lot of screaming. He had taken their mother with him, too, wrapping her soul around his shoulders as he tore himself away.

Mason jumps to his feet. "Can I have friends over?" he asks, "They live down the block and their siblings is missin' and we don't wanna make Miss Katelyn walk 'em home."

"Well," Owen feels his mouth twist sideways, "I'd love to have company, but we can't today, sorry, Mace. But I'd love to walk you two girls home to be sure you stay safety."

A black haired little wisp of a girl pouts. "I dunno," she drawls, "Zy said he'd pick me up and he promised. Zyon never breaks a promise."

Connor broke every promise he ever made, because he always made the same promise every day: _I will never leave you_. The knife sliding into his body had made a particular sound that keeps Owen up at night.

"Well," Owen muses, "I'm sure he's just runnin' a smidge late, girlie. If he's on his way, well, then, we'll meet him as we go. What do you say so Miss Katelyn can go home?"

The auburn-haired teacher in question flashes him a quick, thankful smile, shouldering her bag, waiting for them to depart before she can close up the school.

The little girl mulls on it but finally offers him her hand. He helps her to her feet along with her red-haired friend who hands him her coat and skips away.

"Since I'll be your shepherd today, ladies, I don't suppose I could have the honor of knowin' your names?" the teen requests, padding down the steps.

"My name is Stephie and my sister's name is Bree and we live down the road and she's always late comin' to pick me up," the red-head states, her words snapping in her mouth, "It's 'cause she's awful streets."

Connor had picked him up from school one day with a slit running down his face. He'd shrugged and apologized for being late. Owen thought he was invincible. The sound of the knife, slicing his brother away from life.

"I'm Rose," the black-haired one states finally, "I got a brother named Zyon 'cept he's not my brother real-like. I'm 'dopted."

"Pleasure to meet you, Rose and Stephie. I'm Owen and I have a brother named Mason. You see him and you best run. He's awful kindsa crumbly, that one."

"Hey," Mason whines, _"You're_ the crumbly one."

Owen pretends to notice his brother for the first time, taking a step back and putting one hand on his mouth. "Well, shoot, boy. How long you been there for?"

Mason aims a punch at his brother's arm that does not hurt but Owen grabs as if it had. Owen knows how to raise a young boy because he just does everything Connor had done for him.

He drops off the girls and gets Mason inside before he realizes he still has Stephie's coat. He makes Mason food and sits him down for homework before banging out the door.

Owen is down the street when he sees the teenager.

The boy is carrying a tiny blonde across his arms, and from the way he's walking, he's badly injured. They're coming from the streets. Owen knows better, but he sprints towards them anyway.

"Owen," he says, "What do you need?"

"Zyon," the weary dirt-covered boy replies, and Owen blinks at the name. "Her house is right there," he nods down the lane, "We need to get her help."

"She's Bree, isn't she?" Owen guess, and Zyon's too tired to be surprised. He slides her light body into Owen's arms and shadows him up the path to her house. Stephie opens the door for them and at the sight of her sister, pales to a shadow of herself. Wordlessly, she leads them to the bedroom to lay her sister down.

"Is she...?" she asks as Owen gently settles her onto the mattress.

"She's breathing," he tells her. He sees that desolate panic in her eyes and wants to tell her no, don't be afraid, she's still here. This is a good thing, this worry you're feeling. It is better than the certainty that you'll never have to worry again.

Her blonde hair spills over the pillow and Zyon flops down on the floor next to her. He keeps his eyes on the girl like if he blinks, she'll leave him.

Owen knows a little medicine from taking care of his mom, so with Stephie's permission he checks her over. He sends the little girl out of the room for rags and sterilized hot water, running his tongue over his teeth.

That's when he finds the cat under her shirt.

His hands snap back from her body, and for a minute he can't believe he's staring into a pair of black eyes. It opens its short lavender jaws and hisses at him, and he comes back to himself.

He opens his jaw and whips his head towards Zyon, who is yawning.

"Yeah," Zyon says, "They're real."

"But..."

"Report us if you want," he lifts one shoulder, "Seein' as you helped us, I assumed you weren't the crumbly type, but I've been wrong."

"Is that...?"

"Dunno what it is. Bree calls her Vivi." He closes his eyes slowly, like he forgot he should be blinking. "She saved our lives. Hid in Bree's pack when we were in the streets and got cornered somethin' fierce." He rubs at his face. "Vi saved us but I guess Bree got caught in the cross-fire."

Stephie comes back and from the way Zyon drops off talking, Owen gets the impression that the girl doesn't know. He doesn't say anything, just snaps his jaws shut and starts cleaning her wounds. He hands a few rags over to Zyon, who has been bleeding the entire time without much complaint.

Owen rocks back on his heels. "Well, Stephie, your sister's awful lucky. I don't know how but she aint got more than cuts and bruises. I'll ask Beck for some salve when I see him. Mostly she just seems... tired, I guess. Can you get her water and food, hun?"

She bobs her head in agreement and scampers away.

Zyon makes a face. "How'd you know her name?"

The brunette flicks his eyes towards the door. "She's in the same class as my little brother. Walked her home with your sister."

_You are good for nothing at all_, Zyon tells himself. "Thanks, man," he says, rubbing just a little bit harder than necessary at his wounds.

"Way I figure it," Owen is smart and changes the topic, "Somethin' drained her from the inside." His eyes dart to where the cat is hiding. The implication lands heavily between the two boys.

"You mean to say..." Zyon takes a deep breath and pinches the base of his nose, "Vivi took Bree's strength and used it as her own?"

"Can... can they do that?" Owen wonders, offering one finger for the little demon to sniff. She swats at him and he thinks twice.

Zyon shakes his head. "I mean... I guess she's a psychic one, so I suppose it might be possible. I aint been 'round this kinda thing long enough to tell you. All I know is everythin' went white and when I came to, weren't much left of the kids and Bree was on the ground."

"Much left...?" Owen starts, but the look in Zyon's eyes stops the question hard.

Zyon had picked his way through a little boy's intestines, cradling Bree and praying someone would kill him. He had tripped over a child's arm. The rest of her was missing. Everywhere he looked was splatter-painted pretty with the bits and pieces of someone's son or daughter. He has not thrown up yet. It is the first time that he thinks the nightmares could not possibly be worse than the reality.

==_{and long tail}==_

Rence knocks before she walks in on him, closing her eyes. "I'm givin' you to the count of five," she decides, shutting the door behind her, "If you want a towel, you best apply it by then."

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and quickly snaps a cloth around his waist.

"...Five," says Rence, without counting. She's in Nisse's oversized shirt and it covers her bandaged palms. He catches himself thinking that she's adorable with her fresh-cut wet hair and knows that if she could hear his thoughts, she'd punch him.

"You know," he tells her, sitting on the edge of the basin, "I was actually enjoyin' my shower 'til you showed up."

Rence lets out a little _humph_ and dips the cloth into a cleaning solution. "One thing Heights gets right is the plumbing," she admits, "Plus they got some pretty fancy med stuff."

She pauses above his skin. His back is torn to shreds. The burn is bubbling and ashes turn his wounds black. Touching him is going to open the scabs and ruin him again.

He did this for her. How many more people was she going have to watch get hurt?

Deeter yawns and the muscles in his body ripple. Slowly, as gently as she can, she dabs the cloth against him, pretending not to notice the way he instinctively flinches.

Her cold hands steady against his spine and he shivers. She bites her lip and does not think about him, just thinks about the job. This is somehow worse than anything she's had to do for Harper, although she can't say why.

"I was thinkin'," Deeter says finally, when the pain has become so bad that he has to distract himself or he will cry out, "Maybe we should name him Copper."

"Hm?" Rence stirs and her hands slide. They skim scar ripples. He does not wince. "Oh. You mean my dog."

"I mean, I know it's -"

"I like it," she says, "I'll ask him when we get home."

Deeter can't stop smiling.

==_{down will come Father}==_

"Rules are as follows," Taylor starts, winding through the streets. "You do as I say the first time I ask. You keep quiet. You don't bother me unless it's an emergency."

Nikka cuts her eyes to the black-haired demon and doesn't say anything. Taylor hates her for her patience. She wants to be snapped at. She wants a fight. She wants a reason to be as bruised and as broken as she feels.

"I'm taking you to Havoc and we're finding you a partner," Taylor sneers, "It will probably be really crumbly, if it's yours."

She turns a corner and comes face-to-face with a lumbering boy. He looks her up and down like he's ready to eat her. He's dead before Taylor thinks to scream.

Nikka reloads her bow and sends Taylor a look. Doesn't say anything.

Taylor stares at the arrow through his brain. Takes it out. Adds him to the people she has ruined while trying to get through life.

_=={with death, fire, and hail.}==_

Prime slides down the street to meet him, grinning in that lopsided way he has.

"Addison," he smiles, "How good of you to meet with me. I know it's a bit of a trek."

The younger boy shrugs, rubbing at his jaw. "Did...?" he asks. Stares at the ground.

"Oh, she is indeed very dead. Sammy saw to it."

Addison just closes his eyes.

XXXXXXX

**A.N:** Oh, I'm late. A series of pretty suckish events have effected this. No worries though. I said "Wednesday at the latest," and it's kinda Wednesday for me. I haven't gone to sleep yet on Wednesday, so really.

As I'm sure you've guess, there's a very slim chance I will update in two days simply because I cannot write five thousand words in two days. (Fun Fact: each chapter is over five thousand words, on principle. Who knew?)

Ah, it's getting a tiny bit dark so if you think I should change the rating to M, go ahead and leave a fancy smancy review. You can also review for any other reason you want, including because you think I'm cool and I post stories at four thirty in the morning.

At this point I'm a wee bit tired so I don't actually know how edited this will seem. Let's hope a lot.

Characters that appeared in this chapter:

Owen Carter: FirebirdXoX  
Taylor Lydia: Fear The Pika  
Addison Roux: Not So Gallant Gallade

Also credit for Copper's name goes to my darling Ember you go, girl. Six points to you.

Thanks to those who reviewed last time, and thanks as always for reading.

Take Care.


	6. Chapter 6

**_The Lost Ones_**

_{A story about coming back from the grave.}_

The first lesson she learned was that the price of living is death.

Wind whips at her hair. She ties it back angrily. The lake is choppy and her fingers are tingling. "Storm's coming," she states, bitter as always. She has been bitter maybe all of her life. She doesn't know how to be nice any more. She is scared of what will happen when someone finds out how soft she is. The price of kindness is abuse.

Nikka arches one eyebrow. "You don't say." She comes with cat eyes and burn scars. The price of beauty is personality. Nikka doesn't speak unless she's spoken to first. Taylor cannot tell if this is shy or smart.

Death is an ugly truth. It stares Taylor in the face every second of every day. She wants to be broken but once when she asked for help, someone had told her_ there is nothing wrong with you._

There is no easy way out. Anya had explained it to her once, words that had seared themselves into Taylor's soul.

[See the thing is, Taylor, sweetie, our concept of time is one that is a relative understanding of the universe. For me, time passes faster because I have seen more of it. When you're scared, aint time slow down? When you're happy, don't it speed right back up? So when you die, darling, who is to say that you don't live in that instant for all of forever? Who is to say any kinda leaving is instant? Who is to say that any kinda death is easy? We are all gonna go, lovely. And no way we'll be ripped from our skins without anything but pain.]

Taylor has been drowning in pain for a long time. She doesn't want to live but she's scared of dying.

Nikka starts walking before Taylor can shake off what death feels like. "W-Where are you going?" the younger girl blurts, stumbling to fall into step.

Woodland eyes turn to her and then draw a straight line to an abandoned lakehouse. "We're too far out to make it home before the storm starts, and I don't want to be on the streets when it comes." She is patient in her speech. She looks at Taylor like she wishes she could undo all the damage. Taylor's hackles rise.

She doesn't need protecting. She doesn't need anyone. She had needed people, once, and all that it got her was the irreverent pain of sorrow.

Taylor brushes past her and slams the door open. A loose board falls and catches her cheek. She snarls and kicks it out of the way. Nikka just sends her a look and Taylor actually considers killing her.

"Look, I'm gonna start a fire. If you wanna go out looking for food, I'd be -" Nikka starts. She hasn't closed her mouth by the time that Taylor exits, obviously fuming.

"I'd be just fine without you," Nikka mutters to herself, shaking off the spite that had been thrown her way.

She'd almost been Taylor, and that was why she doesn't think too much of teenage anger. She could have held onto Death and sucked her personality from the draught of his soul, but instead she'd found kindness in the wedges of an aunt's smile and in the glory of the streets.

Nikka pads through the house, her bow armed in case anything jumps out at her. She counts three mostly-empty rooms and a bath and double-checks for shadows. It's all clear except for dust, but the wind is picking up and already it's whistling through the sides and cracks in the walls. They'll need to be boarded up before it gets worse.

She starts singing under her breath to shut out the sound of isolation. Sometimes she feels as if her burn is slowly crawling under her skin and eating at the edges of her mind. It gulps down emotions until all that is left of her is a walking wish for permanent silence. She chooses music instead.

The house is centered around the large living room and adjacent kitchen. The fireplace is bigger than she's used to and she can't quite figure out how to get the flue open at first. She forces a large lever to the side and the telltale scraping of metal rings through her ears. Dust flies at her and she groans, swatting at it.

Nikka gathers as much debris as she can find and pulls some dry reeds from outside. She steeples them and takes her flint to the bundle, breathing life into it. She waits for it to get started, stretching and singing, running her fingers along the mantle above the bricks.

The things that people left behind have always fascinated her. There are no photo frames, but there are tiny rusted trophies and a glass circle with white flakes inside. She shakes it and is disconcerted when it creaks out a tiny tune.

"It's a snow globe," a snappy voice says, and Nikka almost shows her disappointment. She'd forgotten about the little bit.

"What?" the blonde turns and Taylor shrugs, dumping some lake tubers and wild greens on the kitchen's island.

"Snow globe. Found one once and Prime explained it to me. You shake it and it snows. Guess there's probably a music box in that one." Taylor starts rummaging through the cabinets, pulling out a rusty pan and a pot with a hole in it. There's some silverware too, but it's mostly bent. She ends up using her own knife to take the skin off the vegetables, working in quick efficiency.

Nikka stares at her. "What's snow?"

The black-haired girl shrugs. "Guess something white and flakey, given what the insides of that thing look like." She tries the pump at the sink, putting her anger into effort. "Guess t'was some kinda decoration thingy from afore the Father." The water comes out muddy, brown, and then finally clear. She doesn't smile.

"We're gonna need to board the windows 'n' walls if'n we wanna survive the storm," Nikka tells her. Maybe Taylor's just sharp until she got used to you.

"Ain't nobody stoppin' you," Taylor tells her, not looking up, "Get it done."

No, thinks Nikka, Taylor's just honestly mean.

The blonde pulls her coat up around her ears and braces herself before stepping outside.

Instantly she regrets going alone. The howls shriek through her skin and she stumbles in the force of them. Her coat does nothing to stop the frigid weather from getting to her bones. It takes her breath and whips it out of her chest. It's all she can do to keep her bow in her hands and her feet under her.

The mist off the lake is soaking through her clothes already and she considers giving up, but this is the easy part of the storm and if she doesn't get them ready now, they'll never make it through later. She scans the area for driftwood and scrap metal and starts collecting them slowly, tying them together and hissing every time the wind batters her with debris.

She hears something and she whips around, bow steady, bead ready. But it's just the wind off the lake making voices. She stops the thought of the kitten tales she's heard. No one comes back from the grave across the lake. Nina hadn't.

Nikka keeps adding to her collection of firewood and building support and this is when she hears it again.

It's real this time, and she knows it's coming out from the lake but her eyes stay trained on the fog, wind high in her ears and cold against her face. Someone's shouting from the water, but that's impossible. No one made it out on the lake in a storm. You died if you were on the lake in a storm. That was it, plain and simple.

A light flashes against the waves and Nikka drops her supplies. There's someone out there, someone in trouble. She panics at first, uncertain what she should do - she's only one person and she doesn't have a boat and she can't swim and they'd all get Found if she went for help - when it occurs to her that she is only one person, but she's also one person with a pretty strong crossbow and fairly excellent shooting skills.

Putting one hand in front of her face to shield against the flying sand, she rummages through the scraps on the shore until she finds a rope she thinks is long enough. The wind almost rips it out of her hands but she checks it for breaks before tying it to an arrow and crossing her fingers, whirling to face the distant bobbing lantern.

It's whipping back and forth. They must be about to capsize. She doesn't have much time but through the fog and the wind and the sand she can't keep a solid target and this is a marvelously bad idea, what if the person she's reeling in is streets like she is, what if this is Nina, what if she hits the person and not their boat, what if the wind takes her arrow and leads it nowhere, what if she fails to save them just like she failed to save her sister and they disappear into the fog with no one to hold but Death's ten fingers.

She takes a deep breath, angles, releases.

_=={Fog, fog}==_

Rence takes a deep breath, angles her body and releases the story.

"Well," her voice is bright and sunny, "We were setting up for the Showing when..." she drops her hazel eyes and adopts the Heights-folk fear of talking about the father, "When we heard a noise. It shook the ground and a support beam came down. It caught Sister Stephanie and my Brother here quite badly." She takes a deep breath and Deeter can see her floundering. Her streets accent is already slipping into her speech.

"There must have been some sort of electrical malfunction, because it burned me," Deeter continued, "And in Sister Florence's efforts to save us, she cut her palms open."

The Healer keeps her eyes trained on the ground. She doesn't respond. She can't. It's in the rules. She is not allowed to comment on anything but the strict nature of the wounds in general. She cannot make direct eye contact. She has a long Healer scar on the inside of her left wrist, a tiny branch cut out for every person she had failed to save.

"You may talk freely in this house, ma'am," Nisse whispers, "We are all family here."

The girl still doesn't look up, but they see her smile. "Thank you, Sister Stephanie. Whenever you all are ready, may I begin the process?"

Rence makes Deeter go first, and when he looks up in surprise at the gesture, she sulks. "You... just need fixin' the most," she mutters, "Don't think nothin' of it."

The Healer's eyes cut to Rence and Deeter rolls his eyes. Rence couldn't hide the streets in her from a blind man.

"I must ask that you take off your outer garments," the tiny Healer says apologetically, "It is imperative that I observe the full extent of your injuries."

Deeter freezes and Rence snickers. "Can I at least have your name first?" he stutters, stalling for time. He can't ask the girls to leave. Shame in one's body is vanity. Vanity is an excuse to be Found.

"I am Healer Six-Zero-One. You may call me Gabrielle." She keeps her lake-grey eyes trained on his bleeding arm, "I thank you for asking." She has wavy brown hair and dark eyes, a sharp crooked nose and she's strikingly beautiful in a sad way.

Deeter puts his eyes to the ceiling and wonders if it would be ok to kill himself now or if he should wait a little longer.

"Stephanie," says Rence suddenly, "Why don't we adjourn to the kitchen?"

Deeter's heart does a flip-turn at his best friend's kindness. He wants to take her and wrap his fingers into hers.

He settles for sticking his tongue out at her when Gabrielle isn't looking. "_Scared?_" he mouths.

Rence silently snorts and he can't stop himself from grinning. She takes Stephanie by the elbow instead of the shoulder, streets as always. The Healer pretends not to notice.

Once they are gone, he strips out of the clothing lent to him, shivering when her cold hands run along him. He's biting his lip, waiting for the inevitable click of the Height's healing device at the base of his skull. She swipes at the space with antiseptic and apologizes in advance.

It is cold and the needles sink in with their usual slick sound and Deeter relaxes into it because the worst is yet to come.

The first tone sounds out of the five and rocks his body forwards. He's glad Rence isn't here to see the scream that his face makes but doesn't get out of his throat. All of his muscles tense and the burning of the healing process rips him apart. The tone ends and he hears the clicking of the device as Gabrielle's trained fingers set in the next set of electrodes. The tiny spikes enter his shoulder blades, but this isn't the bad part yet.

The second tone blasts his ears and the wave of nausea that overtakes him makes him grip the bottom of his chair as his world spins. The fibers that are knitting themselves together itch and tug and shake him down with pain. He wants to howl but Rence is in the next room and he can't let her know how bad his injuries are.

Tone three takes his sight from him in a blast of stars. He can't stop the gasp that escapes his lips, once it is out of his lips it is all he hears, the echo of his sound on instant replay, a high ringing note in his ears. His heart is pounding and his skin is jumping as it laces itself together. He digs his nails into his palms and fights for control.

The electrodes now reach the middle of his spine. When he breathes he can feel the needles latch into him deeper. He has two left and she doesn't give him downtime between them, because the minute she stops, he will become fully aware of the pain. He wants to puke but he pulls his spine straighter.

He jerks in the force of the fourth tone, rocketing through his bones and sending his eyes to the ceiling. He thinks this is what torture is and the contortion of pain he is put in somehow shuts his brain into a dull understanding of exhaustion. He does not flinch when she attaches the final needles, down at the base of the spine, click-click the barrel of the device creaks into calibration.

She puts her hand on his back and he knows she's bracing him for what is about to happen but he doesn't react, he just closes his eyes.

The fifth note reinvents his idea of pain and reinvents him as a result, strips him bare of his shell and sends him straight to hell, takes his ghost out of his body and twists it, wrings him out and he screams, air escaping him in a low hiss. He almost laughs at the purity of it, because for a moment he thinks only of himself instead of Rence.

The Healer quickly detaches the claws of her beast and swipes at the blood that leaks from the holes. He is shaking hard but he remembers to thank her. She looks surprised.

He's putting his shirt on when Rence shows up, Nisse leaning on her. The blonde looks ready to drop. Deeter can see her lip bleeding from where she has been silencing herself. He rushes to her side, scooping her into the chair.

"Let us look to the meal," he says to Rence, more for formality than because she needs the impetus to move. She has never been good around hurt people. They remind her too much that she is powerless.

They close two doors between the Healer and themselves. Rence is grinning.

"How you feelin, smack?" She jumps up onto the kitchen's island, still holding her hands against her chest, keeping the pain contained.

"Proper sky," he says despite the nausea that is staying with him. He lifts the back of his shirt. "Lookit."

She lets out a little noise, staring at the smooth skin of his healed back. She reaches out her fingers, pauses, touches her cold digits to his warm skin. She connects the dots of the electrodes in the narrow diamond they make, skimming the reddened areas with the same feather-touch she'd given him before.

Rence stops the tracing at the base of his spine, resting in his dimples, taking in the flex and span of him. When they were younger, he had been a pudgy example of gawky teenage mishap, barely able to keep up with long-legged Rence. Somewhere he'd become someone new, someone with lean muscle and broad shoulders. She had managed to miss him growing up next to her.

"Rence?" he chokes, and she whips her hands back to her chest as if she had been stung. He turns to face her, dropping his shirt, confused.

She shakes her head. "Got all kindsa phased by the Heights crumble magic," she explains, "T'aint natural."

He wants to scoop his fingers under her chin and catch her eyes on his. He wants to breathe out all the ache in his bones into her kiss, he wants to turn to ashes on her tongue, he wants to kiss her and sear the worry from her eyes. He wants to curl her close to his body and hold her until she finally cries.

Instead he shrugs and checks on the soup. He dips his fingers into it to taste it and Rence gasps, leaping off the counter and smacking him.

They hear the first tone and Stephanie's shriek, a brief, surprised yelp as the first wave of pain hits her. The Healer will have to set the electrodes along different parts of her body and no doubt her bones will have to be reset.

Rence is used to shrieks so she keeps busy, fiddling with the Heights gadgets around the kitchen.

"Wass'sis?" she asks, holding up a tiny metal device.

"Can opener," Deeter tells her, "You would know these things if'n you had actually paid any sort of 'tention in school."

She rolls her eyes. "If'n I had paid any sort of 'tention, I'd be crumblier 'n ever, now, huh?"

Rence dances around to the sound of the second tone and Nisse screaming now, the pain getting started.

Deeter clears his throat. "You coming to the Showing with any particular smack?"

"Sure," Rence nods and Deeter's heart drops, "Ma's gotta go and maybe Harp if'n she can."

Tone three. Stephanie shrieks and chokes on the pain.

"How is Harper?" Deeter asks without meaning to. He wishes he hadn't because his little girl leaves him instantly.

Rence lifts one thin shoulder and stands with the door of the refrigerator open just because she can, staring at the shelves of fresh produce. She is shut down but a grin is stretched across her face. The beams of her smile hold up her entire body.

They hear Stephanie plead for mercy and then tone four. Nisse does not scream.

"Rence..." Deeter sighs, "You gotta tell somebody. She's runnin' outta time."

"Told you, t'aint I?" Rence grumbles, slamming the fridge closed, "Wishin' I hadn't." She tries to take a bowl to the counter but her hands are still sliced up. She lets it slip from her fingers. The glass shatters against the floor and skitters in every direction.

She drops to the ground and starts to collect the pieces, cuts herself, curls her knees to her chest, leans against the wall and presses the pads of her hands against her eyes until she sees stars.

Tone five.

_=={come}==_

He weighs five tons. When he breathes, bricks sit inside of him.

Owen nudges him, just checking. The brunette is spooning dinner into his mouth, the wind outside howling. He's worried for his family, but Connor had built a storm shelter that was easy to get to and perfectly safe. Connor had done a lot just in case. Owen had never gotten his brother's blood out from under his fingernails.

"We'll start the stitches in a moment," Owen promises, "Just try to keep breathing."

"Excellent advice," mutters Zyon, "Thank the Father you 'minded me. Here I was, all kindsa worried I might forget to breathe."

He might, though. The force of the anesthetic is crushing on his lungs. He keeps looking to Bree, but her face is still smooth with sleep. He reaches out one hand and squeezes hers before pulling away and resting his palms on the wound. "So," he coughs, "'Xactly 'bout how many times you done this?"

Owen shrugs and sets his bowl down. The first time had been in the streets over his brother's corpse, sewing up cold skin so he wouldn't have to bring home organs to mommy.

"Fog if I know," he says, "Ten? Twenty-ish? I'm not crumbly but I t'aint Beck."

Zyon closes his eyes. "Somethin' musta happened. Every smack on this side of the streets knows Beck'll come if'n you call. He helped Rosie once." Instantly he sits up. "_Rose,_" he gasps, "She's alone in the house. She t'aint been alone in a storm afore, she won't know what to -"

"Stop," Owen says calmly, pushing the boy back against the table, "You're 'bout to bleed out. Not much you can do if'n you're Departed. Once I getcha sown together, I'll head on over and bring her here, ok?"

Zyon stares at him. Does not mention what that means.

Owen doesn't make eye contact because he just agreed to give up the time he would have spent going home. There's no way he'll make it back to his house now. He hopes it's still there to return to.

The brunette yawns and gets to his feet, poking at the wound experimentally. Zyon flinches instinctively, but the pain is significantly less than he expected.

"You're 'bout ready to cook," Owen winks, "Imma get stuff ready 'n' then getcha patched up, smack."

Owen has always been the tinkerer. Trying to fix things he couldn't. Holding onto bits and pieces of his life and arranging them into a machine of a boy who worked on nothing but the turn of a cog. He is hoping that his eight year old brother has enough sense to get their mother out of her window perch and into the storm shelter, he's hoping they'll be able to start a fire to keep warm, he's hoping the food down there hasn't spoiled, he's trading in the assurance of their safety for one little girl he'd just met.

But he'd been left alone once too.

_=={to stay}==_

He'd been left alone once and it had forced the entire world inside of him, pushing through the sack of his skin into the debris of his mind.

Addison puts his hands to the floor and draws designs in the dust, scratches the face of a dead girl into the wood. He does not hurt in a particularly present way but rather a strange unattached understanding that he had lost something precious.

She had smiled at him once and when he had tried to kiss her, she'd ducked her head and laughed.

She had frowned at him later and when he had tried to kill her, she'd ducked her head and ran as far as she could.

_You are doing the right thing,_ he hears the voice in his head say, _She would have told everyone._

The thing is, Lace would have. Lace had always lived up to her name and had been made of holes, see-through, easy to slip in and out of.

Lace liked her hair in a messy bun on the back of her head, Lace had big sad blue eyes and a cut over the bridge of her nose, Lace had grown up next to him with her hands wrapped around his eyes. She had blinded him with that smile of hers.

At one point she'd looked at him and asked, _Why are you so happy?_ He didn't know how to tell her that he wasn't, not really, not until she was beside him, not until he could make an excuse to touch her, not until he could watch music spill from her panpipe lips.

Later she'd snarled and he'd seen just how foul her notes were. _You're different,_ she'd growled, _It's wrong, Addie._

No, she was wrong. It does not matter that her kisses ignited his heart into kerosene fires, it does not matter that she'd screamed his name and begged for mercy.

She had always been curious as to where the Departed went. He'd just given her a tether to it. She'd latched on and held tight.

==_{the}==_

She latches on and holds the rope tight as the arrow cleaves the fog in half. Her frozen palms chafe and she grimaces, bracing herself against the wind, digging her heels into the sand.

Nikka can feel the impact through the line and she grits her teeth, praying that she hit what she was aiming for. Taking a deep breath, she starts lugging the line in, hand over hand. It hurts and she starts to wonder exactly what she's thinking, standing in the middle of a storm, hunting ghosts with a crossbow.

But she sees the faint outline of a boat against the fog and her heart leaps into action. There's someone flagging at her from the prow and she pulls faster, hoping she's making the right decision.

The waves chop and occasionally Nikka gets covered in water, but at this point she can no longer really feel it, everything is wet and cold and her hands are burning with an interestingly numb sensation she suspects is frostbite, her lips are chapped from the wind and the boat is barely making process and suddenly she watches a black mark tip from the side and land in the water and she stops breathing.

That was it. That was the end of someone's life. That was what death looked like.

She'd met Death in a fever dream once. He had been a blonde little boy with red cheeks and dull teeth. He'd reached out to touch her and she'd rejected him, screaming and curling away. He'd been surprised she could see him, had sat down and talked to her about his job and the thankless methods he imparted. _I am necessary,_ he had stated, peering at his perfect fingernails, _I do not do this job willingly._

She keeps pulling on the rope because she figures she might as well finish what she started. It's lighter now and the going is easier and she doesn't want to think about how terrible it is she's secretly happy.

The lead tugs strangely and she squints at the fog. It's a hand. Someone is clutching onto the tether from the waves.

_They come from the water,_ Nina had said once, _They make you trust them and they drown you._ She had twisted her lips to the side and pulled her pretty hair from her face and whispered _I think I am one of them._

Nikka sees the head that breaks the surface and her mind kicks back into action. It has to be the person from before, clinging to life. She takes a deep breath and starts ripping her palms open with the force she exerts. He doesn't have time out there. The lake's water will kill him faster than the storm, not to mention the things that lived under the surface.

She's panting and wet and it takes forever but finally his chest breaks through the waves and then his knees and he stumbles to her, dead-eyed and exhausted.

"Jason," he pants, holding out one hand and leaning into the wind, "And you are currently saving the lives of every person on that boat. May I assist?"

"We need to get you inside," she tells him over the sound of the wind, "You're wet and it's too cold right now. You probably have the shivers already. It's dangerous."

He shrugs a little, picking up the rope behind her. "Didn't really think I'd make it to shore," he tells her, "Might as well do something with my survival."

The little wooden boat rocks into view and in the shallower waters, a boy jumps out and drags it ashore with their help. Nikka catches the flash of a Healer ring on the teen as he scoops a blonde girl out of the bottom, cradling her to his chest. Jason pulls another girl with a Healer ring to her feet, supporting her weight as she staggers from the boat. She's bleeding badly from her leg and Nikka tucks herself under her arm.

They make slow progress back to the house, Nikka dragging her bundle of supplies behind them. At first the door won't open from the force of the wind, but the Healer boy wrestles with it and they slide in one by one, Nikka last, yanking the wood in behind her.

The house is searing against the chill of the outdoors and Nikka feels a sigh escape her lips. She turns, smiling, and this is when she finds Taylor on top of the Healer boy, punching him in the face.

Nikka does not think. She takes two strides, picks up the little one and throws her across the room.

Taylor hits the ground hard, sliding against the dusty hardwood. "What are you _doing?_" the black-haired girl snarls, pushing herself up onto an elbow, "Who _are _these smacks?"

"I... don't actually know," Nikka says, "But you can't just … _attack_ people, Taylor. The guy and the girl are both Healers. They're not gonna kill us, probably."

"No, but Carrie might once she wakes up," Jason grins wearily. He helps the girl Healer onto the couch in front of the fire, pressing his body against the grate in front of it, closing his eyes. They are all shivering, their lips blue. It takes Nikka a moment to realize she's doing it too.

She glances at her palms. They're tattered. She closes them into fists.

Beck gets up and rubs at his jaw. "Nice sucker punch," he snorts to Taylor, "The Father teach you that?"

She scowls and retreats to the kitchen, keeping an eye on them all.

He scoops up Carrie from the ground and lays her on the rug beside the fire, closing his eyes and putting his hands towards the warmth.

"Sorry about that one," says Nikka through chattering teeth, sorting through her supplies. She selects a few dry pieces from the center and throws them into the hearth, taking a moment to let herself relax. Her ears are ringing from the wind. "She's Taylor. I'm Nikka."

"Beck," says the boy Healer, "Carrie, you've met Jason, and Landa. We were out fishing when the storm hit."

Nikka waves her hand at him. "No one fishes on that lake. I know about Havoc," she states, "We were about to go when the wind picked up."

Beck relaxes considerably, leaning against the bricks. "Taylor is your... friend?" he asks, his brows knit.

The burned girl shakes her head so viciously he laughs. "We're more like stuck in the same place at the same time." Nikka is trying to be delicate but she's tired and Taylor's not exactly disagreeing.

Nikka sighs and pulls herself to her feet. Every part of her hurts and she's still shivering.

"I'm going to go see if they have any clothes or blankets we can use," she stammers, "Taylor, come."

"No," says Taylor.

"Yes," says Nikka.

"_No,_" says Taylor.

"_Yes,_" says Nikka, and something in the way she says it makes Taylor sigh, roll her eyes and follow.

They find an old shirt in one of the rooms and a pair of pants. Taylor sends her eyes to the ceiling and finds the attic quite by accident.

Nikka, being taller, laces her fingers and lets the little one pry at the corners of the wood until it comes down. The blonde backtracks and makes a ladder from standing up a bedframe and gets a candle from her bag. Taylor waits impatiently and agrees to hold the contraption steady, rolling her eyes at every possible opportunity. Nikka wants to kick her in the face but instead scales the rusted metal, gritting her teeth at the pain in her hands.

The candle doesn't throw a lot of light, but it isn't a big space. Nikka has to crawl forwards, singing to herself through shivering teeth. She finds a few boxes which she pushes in the direction of the hole, unceremoniously letting them drop to the next floor. A spiteful part of her wishes they'd hit the little bit on the way down, but she quenches the idea before it gets too good. She made a promise to Prime, after all.

She used to love attics. She and Nina would hide in theirs, swapping kitten tales about a world without the Father.

Nikka dismisses the ghosts that cling to her bones and pushes the last few things to the ground. It's not a lot.

She peeks down start her descent, but Taylor isn't holding the bedframe anymore, engrossed in the contents of a box. Nikka takes a deep breath and thinks of six nice things before gripping the edge of the hole and swinging herself down. She lands on her feet but she still swears and shakes out the pain in her palm.

"Thanks for the help," she mutters, pressing her fingers against her wound, "What do we have?"

Taylor kind of shrugs, showing her hand full of miscellaneous papers. The box is empty except for a bunch of shinies wrapped in layers and layers of newspaper. Nikka makes a face and keeps the paper to burn, moving onto the next ones.

They find a few stale blankets and more trinkets, a teapot with a hole in it and a bunch of men's clothing which will fit none of them.

When the group receives the spoils of Nikka's exploration, they all smile and thank her repeatedly. Beck helps her secure the house. Jason makes bowls and fresh produce appear out of bags and sets to making tea and stew.

No one looks at Taylor. She doesn't want them to. She wants them to hate her. Maybe if she is lucky, one of them will kill her and it will finally be over.

_=={only}==_

When it is finally over, Stephaine appears in the kitchen's doorway, her face pale. She is empty on the inside. She is scraped clean, ashes on the inside.

Today she has come so close to dying. Death had brushed her fingers. She had not been able to hold onto him as he passed.

Rence gives her a wink as she slides down the hallway. Nisse wonders exactly how broken someone has to be to look so happy walking towards pain.

"Hey," says Deeter, nodding to her. "How'd it go?" He hands her a cup of tea and she perches on a barstool, testing her leg out.

"Oh you know," she sends him a grin. "Pretty sky."

"I liked the clicking part the best, personally," he informs her conspiratorially, "Like it was double-checkin' to be sure it got the best kinda hurt out of you."

Nisse laughs and watches him stir his drink. He's too lean and tall for her father's clothing, his dark brown hair spilling over a crooked nose and warm deep blue eyes.

"So," she says, clearing her throat, "How long have you and -"

He holds up a hand before she can finish. "I am not with that demon Florence Louise Grey," he chuckles, "We t'aint nothin' but kitten friends." He puts his elbows on the counter across from her, smiling at her.

Tone One. Rence yelps out a streets swear word.

Deeter's grip on the cup gets tight. "How you get to be from the streets to the Heights?" he asks distantly, his eyes trained on the door.

"Worked hard in school," Nisse shrugs, "Kinda wishin' I hadn't, lots. I thought t'was the hardest thing gettin' here, but facts are that the hardest thing is gettin' back out." Without meaning to, she's adopted his slow speech. She feels at home in the particular curl of vowels she'd been trained out of.

"Still," Deeter winks, "Gotta say that shower's sky."

Tone Two. Deeter tenses but Rence doesn't say anything. He does not relax.

"Are you _sure_ you two aren't...?" Nisse starts, but the look she receives cuts the words out of her mouth.

They sit in silence. Deeter has stopped moving.

Tone three. Rence cries out.

Deeter knocks back his drink. Nisse does not tell him it is too hot to do so.

Tone four and her cry has become a shriek.

He is growling. He has become frightening and dangerous instantly, his shoulders hunched, darkness over his face. It is taking everything he has not to run into the other room and save her.

Nisse knows Rence will survive the fifth tone, but she doesn't know how Deeter is going to.

"Look," she blurts, "If it means somethin', you shoulda seen her when you were in there. You drove her crazy not sayin' nothin'. She thought the Healer had killed you or somethin'. She was worse 'n' you are."

He cuts his eyes to her. Doesn't say anything. He is too much potential energy. He wants to rip everyone apart at the moment.

Tone five and the word that rips from Rence's throat is a desperate and broken _no._

Nisse can see the word travel the room and ghost into his body, can see it spider into his head and rip apart pieces of him. The emptiness of his mind echoes with the howls of his girl and Nisse watches him take every second of that and force it away, fold it up and store it for later.

Rence had been like that too. _Don't you dare tell him what I did, _she'd growled, _He can't never know._

Deeter looks like he wants to get up and go get her, but he waits for her face to show in the doorway.

"That all?" she yawns, "I get nightmares worse 'n that."

He wants to stride across the room and wrap her in a hug, tuck her close to his body and never let anyone hurt her again, he wants to press against her and let his kisses follow the patterns of her injuries, he wants to hold her hand and tuck her in at night and brush her hair back behind her ear.

Instead he gives her food. She lights up, cooing. Grinning, she bats her eyes at him. "Why, Deets, you certainly know the way to a lady's stomach." She tucks into the stew, talking through her food. "Gabrielle the Healer lady packed up and said her report was gonna reflect just what we said and nothin' more." She swallows and then laughs. "She _also_ said that whenever you wanted her over, you could call her personal-like."

"Me?" Deeter is stunned. Rence winks at him.

Nisse stares at her.

For every tone that had echoed for Deeter, Rence had driven a knife into her thighs to stop herself from crying.

_He can't know,_ she'd repeated, _it would break him up._

_=={way}==_

He is broken up, breathing in rusty blood and checking out of his mind in gasps and flickers. Zyon cannot keep in the present, too drugged into the ash world.

Owen moves the light closer, his tongue resting on the edge of his lips, focused. The needle does not quiver in his hands. He flicks it in and out of his new friend.

Zyon had met Rose at the bottom of a streets ditch, curled up around a doll. _Are you going to hurt me too?_

The string whips closed. Owen does not flinch at the sound it makes. He ties off the end and cleans up the rest of the wounds, standing back and stretching.

"Alright," he yawns, "You rest while I go get your sister."

He doesn't receive a response. Zyon is out already.

Owen washes his hands but cannot get the blood off of them. It settles in cracks and dissolves through his skin. He will become a creature of many deaths and no salvation. The metal of his heart ticks slow.

"You goin' to get Rosie?" asks Stephanie, stationed in the kitchen where he made her wait, "She t'aint safety out there by her lonesome."

"Am indeed, little miss," he smiles, ruffling her hair, "Gotcha any coats I could wear over mine?"

Stephie nods enthusiastically and hops off. Owen is imagining his mother, caught in the anchor-weight of her depression. Maybe she will take his younger brother and refuse to leave. Maybe she will take needles to her eyes and gouge out the last living evidence Connor ever existed.

The redhead brings him back a bundle and he dons a few, wrapping a scarf around his neck and sending a ghost of a prayer towards the ceiling.

He steps outside and is pushed to the ground by the wind. He can't breathe. He can feel his skin freeze over terrifyingly quickly. No way is he going to be able to get to Rose. He should just give up and hope for the best. He should just go inside.

He gets to his feet.

_=={is}==_

He gets to his feet and leans his head against the glass of his windows. He can feel the cold of the storm through them, working its way up into the Heights.

Lace had held his hand and spoke of a world where fire held skin and became creature. She had taken him to Havoc. He had taken her to harm.

The only thing he'd ever wanted was to be understood. When he'd finally found someone who could read the fine stories of his fingerprints, it had been Lace who had introduced him.

Lace wore her clothes with a belt around her waist, Lace liked children and Lace had liked him.

Once he had pushed her up against a wall and trapped her with one hand, exploring the reactions of her body and letting her writhe and giggle under his soft kisses. He had been so convinced that she was his salvation. And then he met Prime.

Later, much later, by the time he'd finally found hope and joy in the areas of life Lace despised, Addison had caught her in his hands again, ready to tear her apart with teeth and heat. She had started to cry.

He wants to say a prayer for his dead girl, but he was never very good with words.

_=={the}==_

Carrie has never been very good with words. The most poetic thing she had ever uttered was her scars, the limbic expression of her pain. She can suss out the story of her life in between white ridges and red peaks of her broken skin.

Sometimes they fade in the tan of her skin and this makes her sick to her stomach. She is written into those laced patterns. They spell out _bad news _and _baggage_ and _bitter little girl. _She was once told that as an orphan, she could only own what she could carry. Her scars came with her as a result. They were the only thing she couldn't outrun, so she stopped trying. They wrap around her, little ghost fingers of the places she has been.

It's the scars on the inside she hates.

Beckett watches Carrie sleep and sighs into his mug of tea. Jason is curled up next to the blonde girl, snoring.

"I thought he was dead for sure," Nikka admits. Beck looks up. She looks thin and innocent in the man's clothing, the oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder and the pants tied with a length of rope. After some hesitation, she'd let him bandage her hands. She doesn't make eye contact, constantly shy. He doesn't know why. The burn on her just makes her heartbreakingly human.

"Jason?" Beck clears his throat, "We did too."

Nikka raises her eyebrows, takes a sip of her tea.

Landa nods. "We were almost to shore when the storm hit. Carrie fell and hit her head on something. I was doing the best I could to wake her up, but we were pretty much doomed either way."

"You must have seen Kas," Beck says, tilting his head to the fire fox sleeping on his owner, "He lit up at the prow and wouldn't move. Musta sensed there was someone who could help us."

Nikka's already been through the surprise and the explanation, but she still feels a tiny jolt of shock every time she lays eyes on the softly breathing ball of fur.

"Then suddenly this arrow comes shootin' outta the darkness," Landa laughs, "Hits the boat and blows clear through." She winks, "I was just sittin' in the wrong place, I guess."

"I…I did that?" Nikka freezes, stricken.

Landa waves it away. "I would rather be shot through my leg and live than get swallowed by that crumbly lake," she grins, "It was a good shot."

Beck had patched up his partner quickly. It was a shallow wound. "It was," he agrees, "Suddenly we're being pulled to shore."

"But the wind was picking up," Landa continues, "We knew there was only so long before we capsized."

"Jason just stood up and said 'good luck,' got ready to jump. I tried to stop him, but…"

"But he said he was the only swimmer anyway." Landa shakes her head. "I was sure that was the last we saw of him."

"After that we started moving faster. He jumped to save our lives. I wasn't able to save him." Beck doesn't look haunted when he says this, just a statement of fact. "But I guess that was _your _job." He smiles those straight white teeth at her and she blushes.

Taylor snorts from her position at the corner of the room, arms across her chest, glowering at all of them. "Yippee," she mutters, "Nikka saved the day."

Landa cuts her eyes to the little one and sets her mouth in a straight line. "And just what happened to you that made you so awful crumbly?"

The black-haired teen makes an ugly noise and shows off her teeth in a sneer. "Like you care."

"She lost her sister to the sickness," Nikka says into her cup, shrugging at the look Taylor throws her. "Prime told me."

"Now I'm awful sorry to hear that," Landa states slowly, "But just 'cause the streets t'aint treat you right don't mean you gotta treat streets _folk_ like they did you wrong. Far as I'm concerned, Nikka t'aint said a harsh word to you yet and none of us been exactly disrespectful, neither. Now, I don't think it's asking plenty much if I request you pay us the same kinda courtesy we been payin' you. I'm not askin' you to kiss us all or shake hands, but if you can't say somethin' nice, don't open that there mouth of yours. We aint even complain' you hit Beck, neither, so…" she trails off, running her hands through her hair, "So, if we're stuck here through the storm, least you could do is behave."

Taylor's mouth is wide open. She snaps it shut, turns on her heel, and storms down the hallway. Nikka flinches when the door slams.

"Love her already," Beck intones dryly, "Right kind of lady, that one." The wind picks up speed. Anyone out there is dead. They can hear the storm sticking ghost tendrils into cracks, but it never breaks the fire's warm wide circle.

Nikka laughs, covering her smile with her hand. "Landa, I have been holdin' back the same speech near ever." She shakes her head. "Bless you."

"Bless _me? _If'n anyone deserves blessin', it's you. Matter 'fact, why don't you come with us after this passes. We'll take you to Havoc and it's better company than… you're keeping, so-to-speak."

Nikka laughs and Carrie stirs, slurring, "Who hit Beck?"

There's a knock at the door.

_=={Father's}==_

There's a knock on her living room window, but Nisse just turns the page in her novel and keeps reading. It's probably a tree branch blown her way in the storm. Rence and Deeter are curled up together on the couch, sleeping on each other.

The great thing about books is that they are absolutely covered in darkness, and everyone loves them anyway. A book could bleed black and most people would rant and rave about the characters instead of wondering if the author ate today.

She thinks maybe in her future she'd like to be a writer, someone with a soul peeking through ghost-glass. She will divide herself up in a million ways and it will be beautiful.

There is a tap at the window again and Nisse looks up. She bites her lip and marks her place, padding to the window. She sees only her face and the wild wet darkness of the storm.

Her face sticks out its tongue and Nisse's heart stops. "_No,_" she hisses at herself, "Not now."

The ghost of her scowls and bangs on the window harder, her hair whipping in the wind. Nisse rolls her eyes and slides the window open as quietly as she can, but the scream of the storm rebukes her efforts. She sends one look over to her friends, but they're both still unmoving.

"Took you long enough," Nisse's reflection says, slipping into the house and dripping on the carpet. Nisse wants to slam the window but she closes it slowly, locking it and leaning her forehead against the glass.

"What are you doing here, Fi?" Nisse whispers, breaks a little, wraps her twin into a hug, regrets it when wetness seeps through to her skin. "How long have you been out there?"

Fi shrugs. "Long enough," she replies, padding towards her sister's room. "You ready?"

Nisse falls in step with her and sends her a look. "For what?" She blinks. "More importantly, where have you _been_? And why are you in my _house?_"

"Wow, thanks for the love," Fi snorts, stripping off her wet clothes and digging through Nisse's closet. Nisse makes a tiny noise of protest but it goes ignored.

"It's not _that,_ Fi, it's just that we all thought…?"

"You thought I was dead," her twin states. "Did Pa tell you that or was it that witch of a woman he's married to?"

Nisse chokes on the words and can't find her own. She wants to say _why did you let me leave_, she wants to ask questions and hug her sister and repair the gap that is still wedged between them.

She sits down abruptly, putting her head in her hands. From her place on the floor, she takes it one step at a time. "Are you alright?"

"Once I get warm, yeah. I woulda been here sooner but finding you was harder 'n I thought."

"Not that I'm unhappy you're here, but why in Father's name are you here?"

Fi slings a bag over her shoulder and winks. "Why, it's a-stormin' outside, little girl. I think what with the noise of it all, it's a right sky time to break you out of here."

_=={way.}==_

He has broken out of his mind, a hatched egg success of a scrambled brain.

Addison is organizing the dust of the floor into pictures. Sometimes if he closes his eyes and writes, without meaning to, he scrawls _help me_, unsure anyone ever would. Lace had tried, after all.

There is a horror story he knows: _the last man on earth sits alone in his room. There is a knock at the door._

Addison could be the last person on earth and no one would come knocking.

"How are you feeling?" Prime asks from Addison's bed, stretched out and lean.

"Better," says Addison, "Now that you're here."

"May we begin?"

XXXXXXXXX

**A.N:** This chapter has the unofficial title "The Storm and the Break: Part One," just so you all know. It will continue next Friday. Get pumped.

Oh by the way the scene with the instant healing is taken out of my life. I had to get a test for neurological response and it was a bunch of needles and electricity and honestly if you ever have to live through that I am so sorry precious darlings. I hope you never have to.

Thanks to those who reviewed and thanks as always for reading.

Take Care.


	7. Chapter 7

**_The Lost Ones_**

_{A story about the storm and the break}_

She had crumpled under the weight of his hands, under the weight of him. Her heartbeat had struggled against his fingertips and her nails had dug trenches in his skin. When he closes his eyes, he sees the memory of her face. He is with her ghost at all times.

Sammy had never wanted this. But Lace hadn't been Found even though she should have been. Prime had explained it in that slow rotation of a voice, the metal-clear slice of a boy who knew better.

Sometimes the Father just isn't enough. That's where people like Sammy come in. It's about justice and fairness and equality in life. Streets kids can get away with long hair and old clothes and all sorts of bad things, but should a Heights child so much as sneeze the wrong way, they are borne off on the Father's wings.

Her name had been Lace and Sammy had held her throat until she'd choked out her life into his hands. She had deserved every moment of that suffering. He'd counted the minutes until she'd succumbed. It had stretched longer than he'd expected. He'd cut her up just to be sure she was dead. He keeps feeling her heartbeat against his skin.

Lace isn't the first person he killed. She's just the first person who didn't deserve to die.

_=={Humpty Dumpty}==_

She doesn't deserve to be alive, she knows this. She can feel the shadow of her honest self whisper terrible assumptions in the back of her brain.

Harper is cold although she's curled up next to her mother. Billie's snoring. Rence is still missing but when Harper closes her eyes, she knows her sister is fine. Rence has always been fine. Harper thinks Rence will keep telling everyone that she's fine up until the day that she dies.

Her mother had storm-proofed the house but no one could storm-proof Harper's body.

She knows she's leaving. That's the worst bit, it's waking up and thinking _eighteen days left, if I'm lucky._

Haper has black nails that do not break no matter how hard she tries to chew them off. Her skin is covered in fine ivory hairs that get thicker each day. Her sanity is held on by her own sadism.

Billie shivers and draws her daughter closer. For a second, Harper's something human.

_=={broke}==_

"It's nothing human," Nikka hisses, "You weren't out there, Taylor. It's mad fog. Aint a single smack in all the Father's kingdom that survives what's worse 'n what we got through."

Taylor rolls her eyes, padding to the door. "What happened to _hero_ Nikka? Scared, smack?"

It occurs to Nikka that Taylor never smiles and means it. Whenever the little one is grinning, it's the ghost of cruelty stretching her lips tight.

"It was probably just debris in the wind," Landa says, waving it away. Nikka sends her a grateful look.

The knocking gets more frantic. Taylor sends the room a particularly acidic look and yanks the entrance open.

Two teens tumble in, one bleeding badly. He slams the door behind them, sliding to the floor, holding his skin together with his hands.

The girl he is with seems to exist somehow beside him and alongside him at the same time, as if their heartbeats are perfectly intertwined.

"Help," she croaks.

Nikka, startled, leaps to her feet, but Beck and Landa are already beside the boy, leading him to the couch and stripping him of his shirt so they can judge the degree of his wounds.

"Don't you open that door again," the girl babbles, "Not for crumbly nothing. _Nothing._ Do you un'erstand that?"

Beck slides his eyes towards her and then back to his patient. "Nikka, tear up a shirt into long strips," he barks, "Carrie, I'm glad you're awake. See if you can get Kas to boil some water for us. Taylor, reach into my bag and find a blue-green bottle with a red cap. Get a spoon."

The others spring into action. Taylor sends him a look. "You don't tell me what to –"

"_Do it,_" the new girl snarls, squeezing her friend's hand, "_Now._" Her hair is streaked with water and dirt. She looks sickness-touched.

Taylor rolls her eyes and does as she's told.

"I'm Landa, and you're pretending you're not hurted," the blonde states, deft hands taking the cloth from Nikka and spooning the contents of the bottle into the boiling water. It fizzes and she doesn't flinch when she dips her skin inside of it, swirling the rags around. The two Healers clean the boy's tan skin, moving with the efficiency of practice.

Landa winks at the girl. "I'm guessin' this here smack is your significant-otherly."

"Rigby," the girl croaks. She looks empty. She has scrapes over every inch of her body. "I'm Dill."

With Nikka's help, Beck holds down the boy while they sow his long wounds together.

Rigby makes the saddest noise Dill has ever heard.

At Beck's instructions, Taylor mixes a dose of something that knocks him into numbness. He feels nothing but heat.

"I'm so sorry," he murmurs, "Thank you so much."

"You needn't be sorry for nothin', sweetie," Landa tells him, her fingers tying off his first round of sutures.

When Beck had found her, she hadn't known how to talk without waiting to be hit. He'd shown her a spine. Her girlfriend had become her heart, had carved one out of muscle and scar tissue and then had taken it with her to the grave.

"I do. It followed us," Rigby's voice is sloppy with blood and drugs. Dill tries to shush him but his eyes can't stay steady. "You're all going to die."

_=={just one}==_

"We're gon' make it out of here alive," Fi promises.

"How?" Nisse hisses, tiptoeing around the two teens crashed on her couch. She's exhausted from the healing, but Fi's presence is singing through her blood. She keeps closing her eyes, waiting for the moment when it turns into a dream.

Fi is dead. Nisse's father had actually cried. He had burned all of Fi's things. Nisse had hidden her twin's favorite shiny in a sock.

One day in a fit, her dad had torn into Nisse's clothing and had taken it. _She's never coming back, Nisse._ _Get over it._

Nisse had stood on the edges of buildings and contemplated dirtying the purity of the Heights streets with her insides. She had imagined her bones slowly breaking the skin of her body. She would pop like a soap bubble. All of her dainty Heights teaching would splatter in a red sunset. Maybe if she was lucky, she'd still be breathing at the bottom while they tried to put her back together, just for that moment to laugh at all their kempt faces sucking inwards at the sight of her skull bashed against cement.

It had been all her fault. She had pushed Fi into the shadows. She had cut their connection for the sake of pride. She had rolled over on an empty bed, waiting for the weight of her twin to collide with her warm body. Instead she'd met only cold sheets and a smooth mattress.

Whenever the sirens had gone off, she'd had trouble staying still. Too much of her wanted to shed her clothes and shriek at the skies to take her_._ She'd stopped eating one day. It felt right to be as empty as her mind.

She'd forgotten what the streets felt like, but when she'd seen Rence and Deeter, she'd remembered. The heat that burned between them woke her up. They hadn't let her die. Maybe she doesn't want to go. Maybe the ghost of self-preservation had spoken for her.

Fi is not dead and now Nisse's skin is buzzing across her bones. It is the shock of suicide without the permanence.

"No way we'll make it out," she continues, "We'll be Found."

Fi shakes her head, crunching on a tuber. Her plans are spread along the table. "If we stick t' the path, we'll be safety. Storm'll cover us. Every smack knows the Father can't fly in this weather."

Nisse takes a deep breath, grinning. She runs her hands through her hair. "And how are we supposed to survive the storm? Where are we even _going_?"

Her twin gets a small smile and pulls her bag around the front, opening the flap.

Nisse almost shrieks, her hands slapping across her mouth at the last second.

A little matted-fur beast peeks up at her. She slides her fingers around his ribcage and hauls him upwards. His back paws kick a little, but he's too beaten up to do much.

Nisse's heart breaks, splattering against him. "_Baby,"_ she whispers, "What _is _this?"

She sets him on the table and gets him a saucer of water, running her hands over his warm fur.

"This is Solar," Fi says. Fi has a warm smile that had crushed Nisse's nightmares late at night. Fi had gone and the nightmares had stayed. "Some kinda fire fox, far as I can tell. Havoc called him… something like… I guess he's a Vulpix? Vul-pan? Vul-tari? Somethin'." She wrinkles her nose. "I'm allergical to him, though."

"Havoc? Who's Havoc?"

Nisse is already in love. He rubs his tiny wet nose against her fingers, and when she sits down, he stumbles into her lap, digging in his dewclaws to gain purchase. Solar wraps his tail around his body, hunkering down. His fur is coarse with grime.

"Well that's a whole lotta 'xplainin'," a voice says. It's Rence, rubbing her eyes, the long sleeves of her shirt bagging around her elbows. "You folks best learn to actually-factually whisper or you're gon' get'chur selves Found." She looks sleepy but content, padding to the table and pulling up a barstool. She rubs Solar's ears and he leans against her fingers.

Deeter's right behind her. He'd woken up next to her again, and it wouldn't be such a big deal if the ghost of her figure didn't still torture him with a girl he couldn't kiss. He yawns and introduces himself to Fi before making Rence tea.

Nisse's twin had brightened right away at the streets in Rence's voice. "You smacks know Havoc?" Her eyes are shining.

Rence nods her head and remembers to ask before peeling a tuber and sticking it in her mouth. "Got me one of them sky things too," she says, "But mine's a dog, I suppose." She looks distant. "Hope he's weathering the storm rightly."

Her face doesn't change in a perceptible way but rather an emotional one. Nisse witnesses one million shadows strangling a girl alive.

Deeter squeezes her shoulder and she comes back to them, smiling. "But t'aint in the least safety to keep one in the Heights, Nisse. You'll get Found 'fore you can blink."

Nisse bites her lip. "I know," she agrees as Solar sets his head down for a nap, "I can't stay in this place any longer anyway."

"Me neither," Rence grins, "I got a sister… I need to get back to." There's a peculiar stilt to her words. Each one requires strength to heave from her mouth. She darts her eyes to the window. "So whatever little 'scape plan we smacks got brewin', count me in."

_=={rule}==_

_Count me out,_ Lace had said, wrinkling her little button nose and taking a step backwards. It had been four days before she died, strangled in the streets near a lamp with a stained-glass shade. She'd groped at the walls, her fingers turning bloody as she struggled.

In Addison's memory, she is still light skin and a blush across her cheeks. She still chews her lip to bleeding and still likes her hair on top of her head, out of her eyes. She still tastes like candy, but she's become bitter in the days before she dies.

He had reached out and grasped her hand in his. _It's going to be ok, Lacey._

She had wrenched her arm back so quickly that it had hit the wall behind her.

_Don't you call me that,_ she'd hissed, _Addie called me that._

He hadn't asked her what that had meant. He'd stood there, paralyzed by the idea that if he took a step forward, he could fix this.

He hadn't moved at all.

"Ready?" asks Prime, and Addison shrugs, sending his friend a long look over one shoulder.

Prime's long, lean body is sprawled over Addison's bed. There's a mountain lion curled next to him, breathing in the same pattern as her master. She flexes her claws. Prime does not pet her.

Addison clears his throat and moves in front of the fire, sitting down as slowly as possible. There's a deep pressure inside of his head, and whenever it gets like this, words start invading his mind, words he can't explain. They are filled with sorrow and deceit and betrayal and he doesn't know where the ink came from, but it is killing him.

_Forgive the forward nature of my wording, madam, but your beauty flat struck me dumb and thusly I cannot use poetry to convey the depth and exquisite certainty of my awestruck appreciation of your fine female form, so-to-speak. _He'd winked at Lace and she'd hit him in his arm.

_I know that's fancy-talk for wantin' me,_ she'd said. She'd never been pulled in by his whirlpool of wit, and maybe that's why he had loved her. She was the only one safe from him. She is the only one dead because of him.

Addison doesn't talk as well now. He used to be able to construct cities in his cathedral of a mouth. Now he just crumbles.

The large cat yawns, her yellow-white teeth shiny in the firelight. She stretches and jumps off the mattress, padding over to the couch. Prime follows in her wake. She comes up to his hip. She sleeps on papers when Prime tries to work.

"You'll excuse her presence, of course," flat smile, "She's necessary."

The younger boy shrugs again. It's not really like he has a choice. That cat could eat him if he refused.

"Wonderful. Then we'll begin." Prime rubs his hands together. "Try to relax."

Addison closes his eyes.

==_{that's all}==_

Carrie's eyes are open but she feels broken. The world is swimming strangely, the floor rushing up towards her and then quickly away. She stumbles but doesn't mention her unease. She tastes blood in the back of her throat.

She had been four years old the first time she'd seen her own bones, a yellow-white flash between layers of skin and muscle. She had fainted from blood loss.

Maybe she's not clear of her concussion yet, because she can't tell if Rigby is being serious or he's just deluded like she is.

"We're going to die?" she repeats, slipping into a chair. She can't stand up very long. It makes black dots in front of her. When she'd hit her head, she'd heard the impact inside her skull.

Beck sends her a concerned glance, but he's holding a boy's innards in with his hands. Carrie has to wait.

Dill looks extremely uncomfortable. Doesn't answer the question.

The room gets silent. Beck and Landa continue to work, Landa's cheeks hollow.

Rigby is floating in a drug haze. Dill has these bright nothing-special eyes while Rigby has a body that's everything-special. It is her soul that slips out through the cracks in her that he's attracted to. Dill has a mind that's going in every direction, and when she turns her eyes towards him, he becomes pinned. It's the crush of her solid attention that does him in – he's lost in the crushing force of being _noticed._

He thinks that when she breathes, it makes his lungs expand. He gets distracted, sometimes, just looking at her, losing his train of thought in the middle of sentence because of the expectation in her eyes. One time he had found her dividing her lunch in half for a starving orphan girl named Lace.

Rigby did not mean to fall in love with her. She was the absolution of everything he should have avoided. Dill is awkward angles and a ghost-lined past, she has cracked lips and coarse hair and when she kisses him, he can't keep his heart in his chest.

He had kissed her fingertips and she'd sent him that lantern stare. _So you _do_ care for me._

Rigby would follow her everywhere. In his pocket is a ring he's waiting to put on her.

And now they're all going to die.

Carrie's the one to break the tense air between them all. "Exactly how," her voice cracks, "Are we going to die?"

The newcomer looks down to her hands. Landa's at her side, cleaning Dill's bloody skin.

"We're from the Cliffs," the skinny girl says slowly.

Everyone in the room draws a sharp breath.

She looks up. "We were just tryin' t'get out for the Showing," she blurts, "We didn't know they was following us."

Beck is on his feet instantly. "Taylor, get wood. We'll need to board the windows more. Carrie, start looking for holes, for cracks, for any way some smack could get in. Nikka, we're gonna need that bow of yours. I'll see if'n I can set you up a roost from the attic."

Taylor's black eyebrows arch. "Just why, again? I know the Cliffs t'aint safety, but…?"

Nikka's already moving, stacking boards and looking for anything that could serve as a weapon. She sends Taylor a sad look. "You're _young,_ huh?" she wonders.

The little black-haired demon instantly snarls, showing off teeth.

Nikka shakes her head, snapping a board in half over one knee. "Listen to Beck and stay out of the way."

Landa snorts. "If'n you want to stay alive, that is." Landa's smeared something over Dill that makes the gangly teen itch but hurt less at the same time.

The Healer girl is digging through Beck's bag, setting out equipment Dill doesn't recognize.

Jason stirs from his spot on the couch. He looks ready to drop from exhaustion. "We're in a crumbly mess if'n what I think I overheard, I overheard."

Beck's lips form a straight line. "I'd suggest helpin' Carrie with securing the house."

Jason pales.

Dill clutches Rigby's hand. He's fading in and out of consciousness, but it looks like he'll make it. She'll be completely useless until he's awake, but it's not like she could have done much to help the group anyway. Her soul is swaddled in this boy's body. She cannot leave his side.

Beck washes his hands off in the sink and Landa pads over, mirroring the action.

"I saw your list," she murmurs, low enough that only he hears it. "It's longer."

The Healer boy lifts one shoulder and scrubs at caked blood.

"When it said Lace…?" she trails off, rubbing at her palms, staring at her skin.

"Yeah," he mumbles, "I was trying to find a way to tell you."

Landa does not cry. Landa sets her jaw and says, "Mercy on her." Landa does not feel anything but adds Lace to her list, too.

They are quiet in the rush of the others, making sure they get all the sanguine staining off of their skin. "Hey Beck?" she asks, and he cuts his eyes to her. "Don't die today, ok?"

He grins. "Don't die, either, Lan," he tells her. "Aint nobody got time for that."

She pulls her spine straight and dries her hands on her pants. "Ok," she calls, turning, commanding the room easily, "Dill, we're gonna need to know what's coming for us. Carrie, come talk to me."

The girl with scars instead of skin pads over, her big sad eyes expectant.

"Now, you're concussed," Landa says, "We can help with that temporarily, but I think it's best if Jason handle Kas and you see how well you can do with your knives. You're in no place to be doin' both at once."

Carrie closes her eyes, nods. "I'll tell him." Her eyes slide to Beck and then drop.

The brunette boy twists his lips to the side. "I'll come. I need Nikka's help with somethin' anyway."

She brightens and lets him lead her away.

Landa turns her attention to the little devil stacking boards against a window. Landa crooks one finger at her, beckoning. Taylor doesn't come. Landa does it again, smiling this time. Talyor rolls her eyes and stomps over.

"_What?_" she spits, "I'm already gettin' everythin' together. What else could you _want_ from me?"

Landa rolls her eyes. "Go find out from Dill what we're dealing with while I set up the med station."

Taylor's nose wrinkles. "We don't need it."

"We're_ gonna_ need the station, babe. Believe me."

"I'm not your _babe,_" Taylor spits, storming away. No one had been Landa's babe for a long time.

Dill looks up towards the girl who holds a storm in her soul. The little one plops down and doesn't do a good job hiding the disgust on her face when she sees the connection between Dill and Rigby.

"Will you please," voice clipped, "Tell me why in the Father's kingdom –"

Outside, someone howls. It's not the wind. Taylor's words die in her throat. Dill's head swivels towards the sound. "They're here," she breathes. "I'm so sorry."

"_Who?_"

Dill fixes all of her attention on the innocent teenager. Taylor feels like she's being swallowed whole.

"Vexes," Dill whispers.

_=={so Humpty}==_

She screams in agony, but Gabrielle is used to this. No one ever made friends with a Healer. She holds pain in the palm of her hands. She started this because she just wanted to help.

Her patient lies back, panting. The device unpins from her skin.

The storm outside beckons the Healer's eyes. She's going to have to go out in that, because that's what she does. There are scars on her wrist from times she hadn't worked fast enough.

She had made a lot of mistakes. They were etched into her so she could never forget.

Gabrielle packs her bag and hands the woman a salve for later.

Her pocket beeps and she slides out the communicator. She's never been good with the bulky thing, but she wrestles it open and puts it against her ear, waiting.

"_Eight,_" she's told, and she bites her lip, hangs up.

Puts her hand on the doorknob and slings her bag over one shoulder.

_=={heard}==_

Nisse throws her bag to the ground, packing in a flurry. Rence paces at the door while Deeter lounges with a book, making small-talk with her twin.

She pauses to write a note to her parents but then remembers that Fi is alive and she's been lied to. Her father's tears had stained her heart. She can feel shadows crawling up her shoulder blades. She used to be someone else, back when she and Fi were children in the streets.

Clothes and a few books fly into her bag. She packs knives and pans and her flint. She has a box under her bed of precious things. They get folded between a blanket and a hairbrush.

Nisse stops at stares at her possessions. She doesn't _want_ any of them. It has been a long time since she had wanted anything. She has held hands with the seven deadlies and the seven salvations, and they have divided her soul in seven ways.

Lust and Chastity had always in the whispers of her skin and in the curl of his hair, Lust in deep kisses and Chastity in long hugs. She had wanted a forever and a right now at the same time, she had wanted long walks in the park and a wet tongue taking a long stroll down her ribcage, she wanted her white dress to be as pure as she was and she wanted her shirt torn off her body.

She takes out a book and replaces it with a small pillow, reorganizes her socks.

Temperance and Gluttony had always been so laughable to her because she wanted to be skinny but she wanted to eat, more. Nisse experienced gluttony on a spiritual level, too, because gluttony is never having enough to fill her up, gluttony is turning around and being empty even though she's praying for salvation under a fog-covered sky. Temperance had held her hand and told her that if she stopped eating, she'd be scraped clean and turned a new kind of empty she could control.

Nisse trades a pan for her journal and a picture for cutlery.

She had wanted the ear-nips of Charity and the vicious tearing of Greed, straight down her soul. She wanted to give herself out to everyone because it killed her that there wasn't enough to go around. She had twisted into wanting someone to notice that she ended up holding nothing: at the end of the day, she gave away her heart and her head and her thoughts and her body and she ended up alone in a classroom, wanting to puke but having nothing left in her stomach. Charity ruined her because she never let Greed speak very loudly.

Creasing her brows, she slips in one of the notes Neil had passed her. _Stay strong._

Wrath of course had swaddled her in wonderful power: she could be anyone and anything and the world legitimately bent to her satisfaction. When she was younger she figured out that there's some charismatic trait to her that lures people into doing as she wishes and when Wrath held her in his arms, she let go of morals and held instead onto heartbreak. Patience, being Wrath's blue twin: Patience found her and told her that if she was lucky and very very very still, the arrow in the crossbow she was building would find her eventually. She would paint the walls red with her insides.

It had taken her a long time to figure out what being a good person is like. She had looked towards Fi for instruction, but when her twin had left, so had Nisse's hold on reality.

She is Kindness, she is, because Envy knows her soul in such a way that she feels his talons in her skin. Not the envy of books that appears in a jade green color but instead a low-lighting envy, a soft kind of envy at the joy others have in life that she does not possess: she loves others for being alive. She lives vicariously through the joy in humanity. She doesn't have that. She envies the little girl she was, the girl who thought she could talk to trees. She wanted to be magic and when she grew up, she learned there's nothing to live for except her mistakes.

Nisse shouldn't, but as she puts her things in piles of keep and discard, she realizes she wishes she was walking out in the storm to die.

Pride had made her want her talents on display, Pride had made her happy when others fell down and Pride made her excited by how quickly she excelled in school. Pride told her that she had to be popular in order to show off her skills, and somewhere in her desire for love, she lost herself to Humility. She looked herself in the face and realized she was not only nothing special, she was an ugly cast-out creation of the Father, she was a terrible student and a worse daughter. She had wanted to be pretty and special and have something real. Humility told her that should curl up and let the Earth crumble around her, because she didn't deserve anything she received.

Fi was promising her a new life. Maybe somewhere out there on the streets, she'd find her heart again.

Sloth, the last: she'd lost her entire being to Sloth. Sloth is twinned with Diligence, the focus she's carrying around, the one that ensured her place in the Heights schooling system. She just wants to feel alive. Diligence had taught her that the harder that she worked for something she loves, the harder she'll fall when eventually she gets it. Sloth is kinder, Sloth is soft and tired and he will be the only one there for her when she closes her eyes and makes the jump. Sloth made her want sleep more than people. Sloth made her want peace.

She can't fight it anymore. She can't.

_=={the Father's call}==_

"I can," Prime says, closing his eyes, "If you'll let me."

Addison lowers his hands into Prime's waiting palms. "Are you sure this will work?" He pretends his voice doesn't shake. "And it won't give me the sickness?"

"The only thing I can say for certain is that you will experience extreme discomfort, possibly even pain. This is all part of the experience. I urge you to remain calm. In the event of an emergency –"

"An _emergency?_" Addison blurts, "What is this, the Showing?"

Prime's cat growls, low in her chest. It puts Addison's hairs on end. He tries to pull away, but Prime's fingers lock onto his skin.

"She doesn't like it when people interrupt me. I encourage you to think twice about doing so in the future."

Addison doesn't say anything.

"Let's begin."

The mountain lion's eyes light up. She digs her long claws into the baseboards and shakes a violet glow around her fur. It seeps onto Prime's skin and crawls its way up his arms, spreading across his torso.

Addison tries to pull away again, but the glow has reached Prime's wrists and comes in contact with the other boy's body.

Slippery warmth coats his fingertips and his palms. At first he feels nothing but heat and then suddenly he feels every particle in his system at once, dancing in the moonlight of a mountain lion. He opens his mouth to comment but he finds he's without explanation of the sensation he's undergoing.

"I want you to think of Lazaro," Prime suggests. Addison can't think of anything but the wet blanket that is buzzing at his elbows and lapping at his biceps. "Whenever you think is best."

Addison closes his eyes. _Aro._

Aro had been at the bottom of a well, tucked in the shadows and sucking on a broken claw. He had eyes that shone even the darkness.

_What is it?_ Lace had asked, _A cat-weasel? _

He'd grinned and gone for rope. _A cat-weasel indeed, my dear. A blue cat-weasel with a red feather. I don't suppose when you asked for adventure today this is what you had in mind._

_Exactly what I had in mind, actually,_ Lace had laughed.

"Keep your mind on Lazaro, if you would," Prime prompts. Addison jumps.

Aro, with a cold touch and soft fur and who curls up in a small ball to go to sleep. He has a soft snore and likes to hide behind Addison's leg when things get tense. _Aro._

The cat's syrup-coating reaches his head and suddenly everything is tearing apart in Addison's brain. He opens his mouth but he can't even force out the scream, the glaze gets in his throat and in his lungs and he coughs but no air comes out. He jerks, his hands still caught by Prime's ten cold digits. His sight goes out and he falls to the ground, writhing, trying to spit out the thick membrane he's been saturated with.

It's inside of him and there's so much _heat,_ burning the insides of his body and searing his soul out, he can't breathe and he can't see, wildfire licking at his insides.

Something inside of his brain cracks.

Ice explodes from every angle, sharp darkness that stabs him and coats him and chases out every inch of the cat's too-much heat.

_Mine, _it says, _You're no longer needed._

Addison gasps. "He's here."

Prime doesn't let go. "Tell me what you _see,_" he hisses, "Right now."

Ice and heat at the same time – he's lost all sense of extremes and is floating in a terrible numb pain. He opens his eyes and almost throws up. Everything is blurry and moving too fast. He recognizes none of the colors, none of the shapes. He knows Prime is in front of him but instead he sees a black staircase and a sad smile, blue masks and so many things flying at him, all at once.

"Aro…" he calls, same way he'd called later, snapping his fingers towards his new friend.

_I think we should adopt him, _Lace had said. She'd been the first to touch the weasel, pulling him out of the well and tucking him against her warm body. She'd nursed him to health and they'd spent their nights looking for patterns in the fog. Addison chased the two of them through the streets, laughing when he caught up, bowling them both to the ground. Lace got kisses and Aro got hugs. She had held both of their hands when they were hiding and had fought to keep them safe. She had curled next to the two of them even when Addison's skin had become so cold, he couldn't feel his soul.

Lace.

The ice in him disappears and the heat's back, but it's worse this time, it's uncontrolled, he can feel it unwinding inside of him, snaking through his veins and losing itself in his entrails. He starts screaming before he realizes what he's doing.

She had crumpled, but not before fighting. He can feel her gasping breaths and her last thoughts. She had no one to call out for. _I'm sorry it came to this, Addison._ He can feel her ghost holding him down too, cutting through the layers of his body and running her tongue down his bones.

"I told you to only think of _him,_" Prime snarls, ripping his hands away. The heat is gone instantly and Addison tries to shake himself back into the world without much effect.

The cat leaps to her paws. Prime is still covered in her extended power, his hands in tight fists. "We were _there,_" he growls, stepping forwards, looming over the boy on the floor, "You messed it _up._"

His cat's black ears pin against her head. Addison tries to scramble away, but she stalks his process, her heavy paws shaking the house.

_What kind of person owns a lion?_ Lace had wondered. Addison had laughed.

"I am always," Prime puts one hand to his head, "_Always_ disappointed. Honestly, I'm not sure why I even bother with this anymore." He is shining from every pore. He leans down to the simpering ball of fear that Addison has become. "It's extremely tedious." His cat opens her jaws and unsheathes her claws.

"_Wait,_" Addison begs, throwing up his hands, "It worked."

Prime freezes and so does his lion.

"I, uh," Addison gulps, "It worked. I can… I can feel… Aro." Time was he could have lied his way out of a situation like this. Now he's sounding uncertain even though he's speaking the truth.

There's a small cold crack across his mind, the ghost of Lazaro's presence. If Addison prods it, it expands and coats him in frost.

_Addison,_ it says, speaking less in words than in pictures.

"Excellent," Prime smiles, stepping back. His cat winds her way around his legs. "Shall I make us some tea?" He pads off towards the kitchen.

Addison gets to his feet, stumbles to the bathroom and throws up until he cannot breathe.

He had touched Lace's ghost, somehow. He had felt her die, felt the flutter of her heartbeat against his fingertips. She had wondered why no one was coming to save her.

_Don't worry,_ says the voice in his head, _It's all going to be all right._

==_{and all}==_

It's all going wrong, but that is to be expected. Sammy doesn't really _understand_ people, even at the best of times.

"It's simple, father," he says, his mouth in a straight line, "There are times when killing is lawful and when living is not."

There are fingers in his brain suddenly, and he thinks of Lace when he hits the ground.

He spits out blood.

==_{the Heights}==_

He sucks in air. It's caught by the wind and turned against him. The cold of the storm takes the feeling from his toes and fingers almost instantly.

Owen slips his nose deeper into his borrowed scarf. He tries to take a step but ends up stumbling backwards.

Connor had taught him how to walk softly enough to stay hidden in the streets and how to walk tall when others spat at him. Connor had taught him everything except how to lose a brother and not feel broken.

The teen digs his toes into the ground and snarls at the weather. He is going to make it to Rose's house. There's no other option.

She's only four doors down, but he can tell already that he'll be wrecked by the time he gets there. He pulls his arms around his body and ducks his head and starts walking the way Connor would have wanted.

Door one. He had come home with a sown-up body of his older brother. His mother had crumpled to the floor and had never really gotten up afterwards.

Door two. He had not eaten for six days. Mason had cried into the night, but Owen had not. He had found his brother's empty bag in the streets. At the bottom was a picture of their family that Mason had drawn.

Door three. His mother had become dust and Mason had become his son. Once Owen had forgotten to take him home from school and Mason had already written him an epitaph. It was very pretty. Their mother had pecked him clean with those eyes of hers.

He lurches up her steps and slams his body against the door. It opens easily and that terrifies him, because Rose obviously didn't know how to secure the building.

Every part of him hurts with frostbite. He tries to stand but his knees buckle. He pulls himself inside, shivering, kicking the door closed behind him. It's warmer away from the wind, but not much. There's shattered glass everywhere from the windows. Fog howls in through the holes in the walls. Furniture is thrown every which way and Owen's heart sinks.

"Rose?" he calls out, "Rosie, it's me, Owen. I took you home today?"

He hears no answer.

Keeping his head low, he staggers through the rooms, calling her name.

Owen's chest starts tightening. Some strange logic in him reasons that if she's dead, Mason's dead.

He's hears a tiny mewling. His heart jumps and he lunges for the sound, following it to a small closet. He rips the door off its hinges completely by accident, adrenaline flushing his veins. He forgets that he's cold and numb and digs through a pile of clothes to a small girl with wide eyes and a black cat beside her.

Owen takes a moment to close his eyes and thank every single thing he can think of.

"Hey," he smiles, "Don't cry." He crouches to her level, taking off his gloves and wiping her tears. "I gotcha."

"He _promised,_" she blurts, "He said he'd _be_ here." She's shivering.

"Well, my darling, he did his best. How 'bout you be strong for him and see if _you _can come to _him,_ 'stead of the other way 'round?" He grins at her and offers one finger to the cat to smell. It stares at him.

"_How?"_ she sniffles.

"Simple as can be, little one. We'll get you bundled up rightly. Zy's just down with Miss Bree. T'aint nothin' but four doors."

Rose wipes her faces off with her sleeve. "Yeah," she decides, "Ok." She gives him a look. "Where's Mason?"

Owen does not grimace, although his soul does. "Well, Mason's awful far from here. He's back at home. Now, we've got some bit of preparation for storms, so I'm mostly relyin' on that boy's commonal sense." He makes a face. "What say you? You think Mace has got 'nough upstairs to get himself and my ma to safety?"

Rose bundles the cat into her lap, thinking. "Yeah, I'd say so," she decides. He doesn't know why, but it relaxes him immensely.

"Are we takin'… that?" he asks, watching as it curls up in her lap.

"Eclipse," she says, "He's named Eclipse. I named him." Her eyes get wide. "Please don't tell nobody. Zy says 'Lipse t'aint safety to have."

"You're right, it t'aint," Owen tells her, getting coats together for her, "But every smack knows the Father can't fly when it storms. Just who d'ya think I'd tell?"

"Yeah, but _never,_" Rose pushes, "You can't _never_ tell _nobody."_ She stands up and lets him layer her. He tries to wrap a sweater around the cat and it gives him the most disapproving look he has ever received.

"Promise I won't, little girl," he smiles, "Aint nobody that benefits some cat gettin' Found." He pauses, twisting cloth into a lead so the three of them won't get separated in the wind, "Though I do reckon your brother owes me a bowl of soup at this point in our friendship."

She laughs and his lips twist. "Listen, Rosie, afore we go…" he tries to find some way of saying it, but can't.

"Zyon's hurt mighty terrible, aint he?" she asks, not making eye contact. When Owen doesn't say anything, she lifts one tiny shoulder. "Figured 's much when he didn't come get me. I weren't cryin' 'cause of me. I were cryin' 'cause of him."

"I patched him up best as I could, but I t'aint Beck and we don't got half the med stuff the Heights does. Once the storm's over, we'll see 'bout gettin' him some real help, but…" Owen trails off, running his hands through his hair.

"Don't matter much so long as he t'aint Departed or Found," Rose shrugs, "Now get me to that smack so I can punish him proper for gettin' hurt."

Owen smiles and loops the makeshift rope over one of her wrists. She holds Eclipse tight to her chest, but Owen slips a collar around his head anyway, just to be certain. After some thinking, he puts the cat under her jacket, securing him tightly against her. He puts a hat on her wild black hair and takes a deep breath.

"Ready?" he says. She nods and they step out of the closet and into the wind.

She shrieks a little, grabbing his hand and staying close to him. He covers her head and guides her through the wreck of her house. He tries to warn her before they step outside, but it's snatched from his lips. Given the way she's shivering, she knows it's bad anyway.

He wrestles the door open and guides her out. The howl of the wind slams her instantly and he's glad for the leash because he almost loses her. She tries to stand and walk but she's forced against the wall of the house.

Owen pulls his scarf up and his hat down and then takes a deep breath. He bundles the small girl into his arms, keeping her face turned towards his chest. She wraps her arms around his neck and has to shift when she chokes him by accident. The cat wriggles between them.

He takes a deep breath again and starts to walk. The wind is behind him, pushing him forwards. He makes progress down her lawn and into the road when the storm shifts and cuts at him from the front. He feels her shiver so he slings her around to his back, taking the full blast of the storm on his own.

"Hey, cat?" he calls. He's already bone-weary and frozen and it's still three houses to go, "I don't suppose you've got any kindsa psychic nonsense you could imbue me with at this point?"

"What?" says Rose.

Owen stumbles a little but catches himself. "That purple cat did it, don't see why you can't," he mutters. He can't even hear his own voice.

Door one. The wind shifts and Rose goes back around. He does his best to protect her, but her lips are turning white and her skin is blotching with the cold. Her eyes are watering from the force of the wind, but her face is set in determination.

Door two. Owen trips, and at the new center of balance that Rose affords, falls. He twists enough that he ends up under her, but he can feel his head crack against the ground. Black explodes on his iris.

The cat hisses.

What if he just died here? That wouldn't be so bad. There were worse ways to go than freezing to death. He'd heard in a kitten tale that everything actually felt kind of warm towards the end.

"Owen?" her little voice is distant in the snarl of the wind. "Owen?"

He blinks and comes back around. She's shaking him, terrified. He sits up and sees stars, but he doesn't care. He lurches to his feet and slings her onto his back. He can't stand up straight. He's turned around. The fog is everywhere and he's not even certain he made the right choice anymore.

A tiny bead of calm starts from the center of his spine and pushes outwards. The air stills and holds steady for three feet around them. It's still cold, but Owen can get his bearings and catch his breath. He steadies himself on a mailbox.

"_Sky_," he says. The wind is still howling around their tenuous little bubble, but she can hear him. "You wanna 'xplain that, Rosie?"

"It's Eclipse," she breathes, burying her face in the cat's fur, "But you gotta move quick-like, Owen. Don't think he can keep this up much."

The sides of their little sanctuary ripple as she speaks.

He can't stand to be in that wind again. He won't make it the next time it hits him.

Owen grits his teeth and then starts running with every ounce of desperation he has left in his body. They fly past the third door as the sphere shrinks. He careens up Bree's steps, wrenching the door open and tumbling through just as the circle collapses.

He closes his eyes. The door slams shut.

_=={Healers}==_

She wrenches the door open. Deeter reaches out for her hand but grabs her coat instead. She sends him a look.

"Solar?" Fi prompts. She has to clear her throat and say it louder. The little creature stirs in Nisse's arms, opening brown eyes and yawning. He unhinges his jaw and lights a fire in the back of it. Nisse blinks and pulls back at the sudden light and warmth.

Rence's eyes dance. "Think Copper's got that kinda crumbly thing?" she whispers to Deeter. He slides his eyes to her and does not mention that she let him name her dog.

They step off her porch and stick to the shadows. Solar keeps the worst of the cold off of them, but it's still hard going. Deeter puts his body between Rence and the wind. Fi wraps her fingers around her twin's. Nisse feels her soul jump.

The group weaves through the forest behind her house. Wind has stripped the branches bare. A stray limb catches Rence across her face, and the swear that crosses her lips gets caught away by the storm.

Solar is shivering so Nisse bundles him tighter against her chest. They clamber over fallen trees and Fi get cut across her knee. Deeter gets tangled and it rips his coat.

They stick to the shadows and get to the checkpoint unseen despite the light that the little fox-cat is throwing. Everyone is inside behind boarded windows. Nisse wonders if maybe now would be a good time to take an arrow and shove it through her soft palate into her brainstem.

"Ok," Fi says, leaning against the side of the building, "We're gonna have to crawl over the roof to get out. It's only one floor, but wind's crumbly harsh up there, so you all best be careful." She swings a long rope with a hook on the end of it over her shoulder onto the roof. It catches on the gutter. "I'll stay down 'n' hold it from swayin' in the wind. The rest 'a you will pull me up, how 'bout?"

They agree. Nisse hands Solar over to her twin and is the first one up, her hands skinning on the fibers. She grits her teeth and drags herself upwards and over the edge of the roof, knees slamming against the wall.

Rence goes next, but she throws her bag up first so she doesn't have to balance with it. Nisse bites her lip. It's been a while since she thought of things like that. She's less streets than she'd thought. The little brunette scampers upwards and arrives at her side, peering over the ledge to wait for Deeter.

He tosses his bag to Rence before taking a few steps back. He runs for it and jumps, catching it in his hands and hauling himself to the top. He manages the series of knots easily, his lean muscle straining against his wet clothing.

"Took you long 'nough," Rence says, arching an eyebrow, "Think I aged 'bout two wheels when you was climbin'." He rolls his eyes while Fi wraps the rope around her waist and under her arms. She braces her feet against the wall and signals them and they yank her upwards. They overestimate the amount of force required and she stumbles, scraping her hands as she flops over the gutter. Nisse gives her a sheepish grin.

The little ball of light they've been surrounded by gets smaller. Fi frowns, running her fingers over his head. "We best be getting," she suggests, "We're runnin' outta time already."

Deeter nods and keeps low to the tiles, leading the way across the long building. He swings off the edge, rolling as he hits the ground. He offers his hands to catch Rence, but she sticks out her tongue and jumps, flipping her body and landing steady on her feet. The two look at home in the storm, surrounded by the shriek of wind and fog. They hold up their arms and help Fi down.

Nisse stands at the edge and thinks about how easy it would be to fall wrong. She'd be free and they'd be free, too. She used to write books where the heroine finally learned happiness. Neil had read her poetry and said _You write so beautifully. The inside of your mind must be a terrifying place._

He was the only one to realize that she was spelling the words _help me_ one million times without ever asking for help at all. That was the best part about books, after all. They were all the same words but in different positions. If she jumped, it would be her body but with her limbs in a whole new pattern.

She lets Deeter and Rence help her down.

They sprint through the district, but the farther down the mountain they go, the worse the storm gets. By the tenth checkpoint, the rope is slick and even Deeter can't get up it easily. They pause on the lee side of the eleventh building, panting.

"One more," shouts Rence, her hands on her thighs, trying to force air into her lungs. Her lips are blue and her hair is a mess. There's a small cut alongside her eye from the tree branch and she can feel bruises forming all over. "But t'aint gon' be easy." Her voice is next to a whisper in the howl of the wind.

"It just got a whole sight less easy, too," Fi says, her eyes wide, staring over the shoulder of the teen.

Rence whips around.

A shadow in the fog lurches towards them. Rence swallows hard. "Can't be," she chokes, "Not so close to the Heights. We t'aint even at the streets level yet."

Wind starts sucking towards the figure, whipping around its body. "_Can't be,_" Fi repeats faintly.

Two yellow eyes show up and they all break into movement. Rence grabs Deeter's hand and starts running, Fi close behind her with a grip on her twin's wrist. They can hear the creature behind them, changing the course of the wind.

"What is it?" Nisse shouts, trying to get her feet under her. They sprint down the empty streets, no bearing in mind.

"Wind Vex," Fi calls back, leaping over a tree and almost crashing into a lamppost.

"But they…" Nisse 's logic catches up with her when she realizes that the reason there's a Vex out is the same reason she was able to escape: the Father can't fly in this weather. She swallows hard. If they're very lucky, by the time the Vex catches up to them, they'll be dead from some terrible accident.

Already it's getting hard to fight the force he exudes on the air. They turn a corner and the building blocks his suction for a second, but it comes back from the side suddenly and Rence stumbles, sliding in a puddle and scraping the side of her leg. Deeter wrenches her to her feet, other hand going for his knife.

He turns. The Vex is only a building's length behind them, his cavernous mouth inhaling the fog and pulling the air towards him. His jaw comes down to his ribcage, the black contents of his throat visible from a distance: rows and rows of teeth.

Deeter aims the blade over one shoulder as Rence limps back into her stride. His weapon gets caught in the suction and sails point-first towards the beast. It won't kill the creature, but it will slow it down.

Solar's heat is the only thing stopping them from being pulled back and eaten, but it's starting to waver. Rence leads them down alleys and through lawns. Debris catches the inside of Fi's arm and whips the twins apart. Fi keeps running but she can feel where it hit her start to bleed. She glances down and does not scream when she sees a shard of glass jutting out of her coat. Nisse screams for her, realizing the pain her twin is about to be in once the shock wears off.

Wet warm silk trails down to her fingertips and she feels her arm go useless. She can't hold Solar and keep pressure on the wound at the same time, but she tries.

The suction picks up again. Rence swears as a little girl who is all mouth turns towards them and starts walking. Deeter wrenches them to the side, but the howl of the man comes at them from down the other side of the alley.

Deeter turns to find the girl behind them. His hands settle on Rence's waist and he throws her upwards. She catches the side of a roof with her fingertips and scrambles upwards as Nisse rips the glass out of her sister's arm and throws it towards the little girl. Fi feels like she's being torn in two.

Deeter laces his fingers and gives Nisse enough lift to reach Rence, who yanks the teen to safety.

Fi gives him a look. She has no free arms and the Vexes are only a thousand yards away. If she goes, he'll be stuck here to die.

The boy knows this but he still holds out his hands.

"I can't leave you," she shouts over the wind, "Rence would kill me." She puts down her bag and slings her rope-hook onto the ceiling. Her twin is shrieking her name, desperate. "Take Solar and tell my sister that I love her and this was not her fault," she says. She doesn't know if he hears her. She doesn't look at him, just takes out each of her weapons. One knife goes into the ground to steady the rope while she slings her quiver over a shoulder.

Nisse is sobbing. Rence has her arms wrapped around the girl's body, keeping her away from the edge.

Deeter gives Fi a look. "I will keep her safe," he promises, slinging her bag over his shoulder and tucking Solar against his chest. His hands grip the rope and he meets her eyes. "Thank you."

She shrugs her one good arm, lets a knife fly. The suction from the left gets worse and she dodges a flying piece of metal. "Maybe I'll make it out," she says, "But if I don't, I'm going down fighting. Don't stop running until you're clear. I'll hold them off as best as I can."

He nods, opens his mouth, closes it, and nods again. He's up the rope in seconds. For an instant she has a flash of hope that they could pull her up, but then the suction takes the hook off the roof and pulls it out of her reach.

She nocks her arrows and whispers, "Run."

They are four rooftops away when she starts to scream.

Nisse is so broken she cannot cry. She keeps going.

_=={and all the streets men}==_

She is at rest, for once, bouncing her knees and playing with her hands. The waiting room is quiet, soundproofed from the rush of the storm.

"Healer six-zero-one?" someone calls. Gabrielle jumps to her feet, slinging her bag over one shoulder. The secretary nods to her, handing her a clipboard. "Welcome, Sister. May I know what you're here for?"

It takes her a second to remember she's inside of the hospital, she's allowed to speak. It still feels strange. "I received a Code Eight."

The secretary stands up straighter. "Right this way."

Gabrielle nods and falls in step as they wind through the hallways. She smiles and greets each person they pass. It had taken her a while to get the Healer way correct: one has to exist while simultaneously not existing. They are tools and nothing more.

The secretary has to leave her in the seventh ward, but Gabrielle knows the way anyway. It's only a formality she'd be accompanied.

She pushes her fingers against scanners and holds her eyes against readers. She likes to sing rhymes in her head while they're making sure she is who she says she is.

The sterilization room is her least favorite, only because it's uniquely cold. By the time that she's back in her clothes and heading towards room eight, she's still feeling the buzz of chill on her extremities. She itches the healing scab on her arm, opening the door.

Room eight, ward eight is a warmly decorated room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and mahogany desks. There are plush chairs and low couches and smiling Heights Healers lounging about, nodding as she passes. They do not look at all as if they are stationed there with orders to kill intruders on sight.

She says the proper words and pads to the back of the room, slipping into a closet and hanging up her coat. She feels along the back of the wall until her fingers catch on the proper knob. A tiny door swings open soundlessly and she crouches through, pulling herself up on the other side.

Gabrielle follows the white marble hallway, padding down the black staircase and slipping into the operating room. She fits a blue mask over her face and stands over the body on the table, thrashing against its bonds.

"New one?" she asks the Healer in the room, snapping gloves over her fingers.

He nods. "Don't know what it is yet, but we'll figure it out."

Her eyes close. "That's all we need," she sighs, aiming the light and picking up a scalpel, "A new kind of Vex."

_=={couldn't put Humpty together again.}==_

"Familiar Vexes, mostly," Dill says, "Gotta be fire and mud in there, but Father if I didn't see a wind Vex too."

They didn't have enough time to secure the house. The only way they're going to survive is if they can keep them out long enough to cover everything. After that, it's a matter of the storm dying down. Once it does, the Father would save them.

Nikka does not think too hard about the fact that the last storm lasted for ten trains.

Carrie is stationed at one window, an array of knives beside her. She can only lose so many to throwing before she'll have to resort to hand-to-hand, and that is not her strong suit. She wants to throw up but she can't tell if it's from fear or her concussion. Jason's at her elbow, Kas in hand.

Beck hands them each a pill. "They get through that door, you take this right away, you understand?" he asks. Taylor's the only one that doesn't nod.

"What exactly is it gonna do that I must take it straight away?" she spits, despite taking it from him.

"Hopefully," he says, shouldering a plank of wood, "It will kill you before they can get you."

She's silent after that.

The shrieks get louder. Nikka nocks her crossbow, Taylor at her hip, ready to reload. They're outmanned and Dill can't help. If she's going to die, it's going to be in Rigby's arms. The only rule of her universe was him. She has a board of nails beside her just in case, but everyone knows it won't be enough if the Vexes get past the barrier.

Something slams against the roof. They can hear it crawl over the tiles, scrambling through purchase. Everyone in the house is silent, their eyes tracking the path. Several noises meet the first. They're roosting.

From her perch in the attic, she sees the first sick-orange glow of a fire Vex. Nikka bites her lip and lets an arrow fly.

Everything splinters at once.

Three pairs of wings take off the ground while other creatures light up in fire. In their glow, Nikka can see the telltale black smear of a mud Vexes in their shadow.

She doesn't have time to think. Taylor is stumbling backwards, her eyes bright and frightened. Nikka kicks over a few poles and a broomstick. "Start sharpening," she snaps, loading her crossbow, "We're gonna run out of arrows."

For once, Taylor does not argue, just starts working.

Nikka takes aim, her heart beating out of her chest. The first one misses and she swears, her hands shaking as she reloads, running across the room to the other window. They can't figure out where she's firing from or they'll kill her. Already the Vexes on the roof are shaking down debris with their claws, trying to dig through the ceiling.

She shoots into the fog and catches one black wing. The Vex shrieks before spiraling to the ground, her body breaking on the soil. Nikka shoots for its forehead, just to be sure, trying not to notice the sad beauty of the woman's face. Except for the black stains covering her and the wings out of her back, she looks entirely human. Nikka swallows vomit when her arrow pierces the woman's skull.

A mud Vex begins to fill the woman's body, pouring its skin into her. Nikka watches her skeleton twitch with it.

Swearing, the blonde takes a sharpened rod from Taylor, cracks it over one knee and lights it on fire, shooting down onto the carcass. The mud Vex shrieks, trapped in a body and burning.

Downstairs they're having a harder time. Kas is doing his best, standing in Jason's hands and spitting pure power. He takes down a mud Vex but the fire ones are completely unharmed by his attacks, smiling as they grow larger. A flying Vex spots their position and rushes towards the window.

Carrie lunges for their shutters, gritting her teeth as talons catch her across her eyes. She puts one knife in her teeth and slices through the Vex's arm with another. He shrieks and retracts enough for her to get aim. She spits her blade into her palm, bounces it straight and then whips it straight for his eyes. He goes down before she can get the shutters closed, tying them off and running with Jason to the next part of the house.

Something slams against the walls and she ducks, but Jason takes his rod and shoves it through the hole. The sharpened end comes back covered in blood. He spins it in his palm and kicks a board into his hand, slamming it against the structural weakness. He leans against it as Carrie tries to nail it in. Her hands are shaking and she can't see straight. When she walks, the ground flexes.

Jason growls a little as his body is pushed away from the wall. He digs in and fights back, sending Carrie a look to hurry up.

She drops the first nail and she almost sobs. The smell of Vex blood is in her nose and her head is all strange and she's completely _useless_ –

The board straightens and Beck flips a hammer in his palm, driving in the nails with one blow each. He holds out one hand and takes her fingers in his. "Stay by me," he says over the din of the creatures, "You're hurt."

"Where's Landa?" she shouts as they run, "Is she ok?"

"She's fine," he calls back, "She's stationed in the living room watching over Rigby. He could still bleed out any minute."

Carrie lifts her eyes to his tan jawline, but he doesn't show any particular emotion.

A window breaks over her head and she shrieks, throwing her arm up. She feels the familiar splitting of skin and knows by the depth of the pain that the glass cuts are going to scar. A fire Vex's head lunges into view, growling.

Carrie's fingers tighten around Beck's.

She lets go and whips her leg around, aiming her heel for the burned face. She feels the crunch of bone and pins the shoulders against the window frame, sliding a knife from one of the multiple sheathes in her boot. One goes in her left hand while the other slits across the Vex's throat. She's too close and she can feel the skin on the back of her knuckles fry. It takes her a second to realize she can smell her own body cooking.

Beck pushes Jason out of the way, getting him to safety. They're going to need to board up the window and Kas is out of commission of a moment, panting and shivering.

The Vex is dead but there are two to replace him. One goes for her hair and she flips the blade in her left hand towards her wrist, driving it backwards and into his skull. It misses by a fraction and it puts her off balance. There are hands on her body before she can think.

A length of rope wraps around the Vex's neck and jerks it to the side, snapping it. Beck is beside Carrie, the lead wrapped around his fists, taunt. He pulls back his fist and slams it into the next Vex's face, twisting his arm to entangle the torso. Carrie ducks under him and drives her knife upwards, right between the ribs.

There are others alerted to their position now, and the hole of the window is getting wider. A winged Vex takes Beck's rope in her hands and yanks him partly out of the house, but an arrow from Nikka strikes her dead. He falls too hard and slams his head against the wall. Carrie rushes to him but there's another Vex right behind her. She feels fingers sink into her spine and everything goes a startlingly white. Blood fills her mouth and spills over her lips. She sinks to her knees.

Beck rolls over as the Vex hauls itself over the wall. It's too big and is blocking others from getting in, but it's only a matter of time.

The Healer pulls her towards him, pressing against her wounds. "We…" he is trying to focus but his head is swimming, "You…"

The Vex puts one foot on the ground, smiling. He is beautiful. He holds out bloody palms and starts to hitch himself all the way inside.

A board connects with his temple and he falls backwards, his body taking out a fire Vex on the way down. Dill slams wood over the hole and braces herself against it. She rocks with the force of the beasts on the other side.

Beck cradles Carrie's head. He makes some semblance of a noise, trying to thank her.

Dill sends him a haunted look. Her wooden mallet is covered in Vex blood.

Jason reappears. "Rest of the house is shut down," he says. His staff is snapped in two and there a long cut from the corner of his eye down to his chest. His legs are soaked in blood. Kas is passed out on his shoulders. He slides over to Dill's side, nailing the board in. She helps him layer more wood on top as the shrieks from outside get angrier. "Thought you were staying with Rigby," he says.

The gangly blonde girl sends him a long look. "I did, too," she admits. There's a dull thump as outside, Nikka shoots down another.

She reloads her bow and flinches as claws rip through her ceiling. "Time to go," she sings, ducking the hail of plaster and insulation. She shoots blindly over one shoulder and is actually pretty impressed when she hears an answering shriek. "Taylor?"

The little black-haired girl is curled in a corner, tearing at her hair. "It can't be," she's whimpering, "It can't be."

"Taylor, darling, now is not really the _best_ time for you to go crumbly on us," Nikka grunts, dodging a pair of talons. She takes one of the rods Taylor abandoned and drives it through the palm of something that looks utterly too human.

There's a cut over her eye and it's bleeding across her vision. She can't aim anymore, but she tries. The sound it makes tells her that she's missed. She jumps as a window breaks. A fire Vex is holding himself up, sliding through. He's burning brightly, but in the wind of the storm, he doesn't catch. Nikka is thankful enough for that, but when she aims, she knows he's too close.

"_Taylor,"_ she growls, "Get downstairs."

She rips her bolt out of the bow, takes a deep breath and rushes for him, slamming it through the back of his neck. His body hangs against the outside wall, pinned. It takes her a second to realize he'd managed to burn her. It runs along the backs of her arms and her chest. She glances at the wound, but it's not bad. She thinks it's pretty funny that after all she's been through, her skin still knows what pain is.

She sends a look over one shoulder. Taylor is even farther in the corner.

"Are… are you _crying?_" Nikka gasps.

Taylor shakes her head quickly, but it's obvious she is.

Nikka flinches when a board comes down. She drops her bow and runs for the girl, wrapping her hands around the skinny wrists. Nikka throws her through the hole in the floor, growling. She scrambles for her crossbow, shoving her fist against a flying Vex. It doesn't do much but it makes her feel better. She flips on her back, aims at the ceiling and fires through the rafters towards the sources of noise. She kicks off the wall and skids across the floor, reloading and firing before she finds the edge. She twists in time to get a handhold before swinging down. They've set up a series of boards which she kicks into place, grinning. The ceiling will hold for at least a day, and in that time, they'll have reinforced it.

Sighing, she slings her bow across her back and turns to the little girl. "Let's get you patched up," she suggests.

Taylor shows no signs of having cried, but her face is still pale. "I couldn't help," she croaks out.

Nikka raises one shoulder. "It was your first time dealin' with Vexes. No smack ever handled that well. I think I fainted."

"Not you," says the little one, so quietly Nikka almost doesn't hear her. The blonde creases her eyebrows and guides Taylor through the rooms back to the living room where Beck is sewing up Carrie. Nikka feels her heart drop at the look on his face.

She doesn't ask, just sits down and lets Landa look her over. She catches the Healer girl's green eyes. Landa shakes her head, imperceptibly.

Dill is sitting on the arm of the couch, staring at the body of the boy she loves. No one says anything. The Vexes outside say it for them.

The Cliffs girl jolts, her head snapping towards the sky. Nikka instinctively grabs her bow, but Landa puts a steadying hand on her thigh.

"Hear that?" the Healer girl asks, a slow smile on her face.

Nikka tilts her head. She hears nothing but the keening of the Vex children and the swish of Beck's movements.

"_Sirens,"_ Taylor breathes. She's sitting on the floor, her fingernails curled into her palms. "It's the _sirens._"

Beck looks up and almost smiles.

"Storm must be clearing," Landa whispers. Her eyes trace Nikka's scar, but for some reason it doesn't feel as bone-crushingly shameful as usual. Nikka feels herself blush but she can't say why. "Father's coming," Landa promises. She reaches up and lays her hands against the warmth of Nikka's cheek, just for an instant. It's the first time anyone has touched Nikka's face since the accident occurred.

Jason stands over his friend's body and his eyes cut to the black-haired demon. She's slowly pulling at her skin. He wants to comfort her but doubts she'd appreciate the gesture. His hands curl instead around Carrie's. Her fingers are cold and do not respond to him.

Taylor's mind has spilled over and become dust. She is emptied from the outside in. They should have _told _her. A monster: that was something she could fight. But a Vex? That wasn't a monster.

A Vex was something else entirely. This isn't her first time seeing one at all, because they've been haunting her for years now, waking her up in the middle of the night to spill sorrow down her shoulder blades. They had almost-human faces and spoke in almost-human growls and she knew exactly where she'd seen these things before. She'd seen it in her sister, because Vexes _are_ human.

They're just what the sickness made humans into.

xxxxxxx

**_A.N:_**Hello there, darlings! Thusly ends part two of The Storm and The Break, I hope it lived up to its rather grandiose title. :)

I am indeed posting this at three in the morning because I have no sense of timing and when I sat down to edit it, it was already one, so please forgive me if there are any large and or glaring errors. I'll look it over harder once I get some sleep.

Ah, this chapter (besides being one of my favorite numbers) brings the entire total word count of The Lost Ones above 50k, which means it's officially a _book._

I love everyone who reviewed and thanks just even for reading. Hopefully I'll see you next Friday. :)

Take Care.


End file.
